


Someone to Watch Over Me

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Little!Emma - Freeform, Minor Violence, Portals, Soulmates, Time Travel, alternate season 1 & 2, brief description of an attempted rape, but not between the main characters, cabin boy Killian, little!Killy, magic wardrobes, negative portrayal of Regina, teenage Emma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Emma Swan is ten when she first sees the pair of bright blue eyes watching her from the cracked door of the wardrobe. She thinks it was just an imaginary friend, until she sees those eyes again at 16 and 23.Nominated for Best Canon Compliant / Canon Divergent MC WIP in the OUAT Fandom Awards.





	1. When We Were Very Young

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kmomof4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmomof4/gifts).



> * Based on the prompt: A child is kidnapped and the monsters under her bed are not happy about it. But ya'll know me - it ran away from me. Although I kind of think its fun when the muse takes you in a direction you never expected. Don't you?  
> * I confess I gave up trying to follow the show's timeline. First, this is canon-divergent anyway, and second, it's not like the writers of the actual show care anymore about the timeline, so why should I? ;)  
> * This was originally going to be a one-shot. Until I hit over 4,000 words. Now it will be two chapters.

**Age 10**

              Emma’s new foster mother, Martha, looks to be in her seventies with brittle gray hair and deep wrinkles. Yet her smile is kind, and her hands are soft as they gently give her slim shoulders a squeeze. The house is at least a hundred years old with cracked, peeling paint, and scuffed hardwood floors. A monstrous, black pot-bellied stove radiates heat from the corner of the main room. Like most old houses, one room leads into the next, and Martha gently steers her through the doorway next to the stove. She tells her this will be the room she shares with Lindsey, the sullen teenager with a permanent scowl on her face. Emma looks around, taking it all in through her wide jade eyes. There’s a fireplace in this room, but it’s bricked up. A small space heater instead runs in the corner of the room. Martha tells her this used to be the dining room, and a set of French doors line one wall. A long, low piece of furniture sits in front of it to block the door, but through the beveled glass, Emma can see the foyer and the front door that she knows leads out to a massive front porch complete with a swing.

              Martha shows Emma her bed, and she’s surprised to find that she gets the larger one. A massive double bed of thick, dark wood with tall posts. Lindsay’s twin bed, just a simple metal frame and mattress sits in front of the room’s one window.

              “Lindsay couldn’t sleep in that huge bed, so I got her that cot,” Martha explains with a shrug. She sets Emma’s suitcase beside the bed and then pulls a small stepstool from beneath it. “This thing is so high off the ground, you’ll have to use this to get in it. It’s a very old bed.”

              Emma eyes the stool and tries to hide how pleased she is with the bed. It’s ornate and obviously an antique. It’s like something out of a movie. She’ll feel like a princess sleeping in that bed.

              But the best thing of all is the wide space between the bed and the hardwood floor. No monsters can lurk under this bed.

                            *****************************************************

              Martha wears a faded housedress covered in tiny blue flowers and blue terry-cloth house shoes on her feet. She dons an apron to make supper, and Emma thinks of old black and white TV shows. Maybe this place won’t be so bad. Maybe Martha will one day tell her, “I love you, please stay. And why don’t you call me grandma?”

              Emma tries to push that fantasy aside. If it doesn’t come true, she’ll be disappointed. Again. Martha asks if she wants to help with supper, and she eagerly agrees. Martha lets her pour the macaroni noodles into the boiling water on the stove, warning her to go slowly so she doesn’t burn herself. She then lets Emma stir the noodles so they won’t stick together while she chops an onion expertly into tiny pieces.

              “These are the chicken pot pies,” she explains next, handing Emma a fork. She shows Emma how to poke the fork slowly into the crust to make each family member’s initials. Emma grins as she presses the fork into hers, then turns the fork sideways to make three more straight lines. “E” for Emma.

              Besides Lindsay and Emma, there’s also a little boy named Tyler with wide eyes and a sad, fearful face. His parents and sister where killed in a car accident, and he’s only here temporarily while his aunt and grandparents argue over who gets to keep him. Emma has a hard time imagining family, much less one who will want you so badly they would fight about it.

              Martha hands Tyler a little plastic box shaped like a loaf of bread. She tells him to take out a card and pass it around the table. On each is a Bible verse, and they can’t eat until they’ve each read one. Lindsay rolls her eyes, but complies.

              Emma’s verse reads, “When my father and my mother forsake me; then the Lord will take me up.”

                            *******************************************************

              Martha has a distinctive scent to her that Emma can’t quite place. Every time the elderly woman gives her a tentative side hug, the scent washes over her. It’s comforting and makes Emma want to bury herself in a bear hug with the woman. But she refrains. She can’t seem too eager; it might scare Martha and then she won’t want to keep her.

              The bathroom in this house is in an odd place: off the kitchen. When Emma goes to brush her teeth, she sees two jars on the pedestal sink. Inside one is a pinkish cold cream, and in the other is powder with a fat, fluffy puff resting on top. Emma lifts both to her nose and sniffs deeply. Yes, the combination of the two. That’s Martha’s scent. Emma eyes the makeup puff as she screws the top back on the cream. She simply can’t resist it, she lifts the puff and starts patting the powder onto her face. She starts and almost drops the puff when Martha suddenly steps into the room. Emma wilts. This will be her shortest stay at a foster home ever. A new record. Nice job, Emma!

              But a smile simply deepens the crows feet around Martha’s eyes as she chuckles softly. She wets a wash cloth and swipes it across Emma’s face.

              “This pretty face doesn’t need makeup,” she tells her with a sparkle in her eye. “Of course,” she continues, “pretty is as pretty does.”

              Emma cocks her head to one side and wrinkles her forehead, “What does that mean?”

              Martha pats Emma’s cheek gently, “It means our hearts are what make us truly beautiful. The way we treat people and the things we do are far more important than what we look like.”

              Emma is both relieved and surprised when that is all her transgression gets her: a gentle lecture. Martha helps her off the stool, then takes her hand. She leads her to her room, tucks her in, and says a short prayer. Emma bites her bottom lip, wanting so badly to make a request, but afraid to do so.

              “Could I give you a hug and kiss good night?” Martha asks, and Emma thinks that the old woman looks just as nervous as Emma asking.

              Emma beams and pulls her arms out from under the covers. The woman gives her a good, firm hug. Over her shoulder, Emma notices for the first time a large, ornate piece of furniture in the corner. There are a large set of doors in the top half, and two drawers on the bottom.

              “What is that?” Emma asks, pointing, when Martha releases her from the hug.

              “It’s a wardrobe,” the woman explains, as she tucks the blankets back around Emma. “Old houses didn’t have closets, so people put their clothes in those.”

              Emma says nothing as Martha brushes a kiss to her forehead and tells her goodnight, but she eyes the wardrobe warily. It’s the perfect place for monsters.

              Lindsay comes in then, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. Instead of pajamas, she’s dressed in tight jeans and a skimpy tank top. Emma sits up in bed and watches curiously as the teenager slips into a pair of boots.

              “What are you doing?” Emma asks as Lindsay slowly and quietly opens the window.

              “None of your business, kid,” she snaps, tossing a backpack out the open window. “Just don’t snitch. Got that?”

              Emma nods as she pulls the blanket to her chest. What does she care what Lindsay does? The teenager disappears out the window, and Emma falls back against the mattress with a sigh. She can’t remember the last time she had a room all to herself, and it makes her a little nervous. She eyes the wardrobe nervously. Did it just squeak open a little? She squints in the dark. Through the open slit of the wardrobe, she swears she sees a pair of bright blue eyes looking at her. She gasps and throws the covers over her head. She counts to one hundred slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. The wardrobe door makes another squeaking sound. After another count to one hundred, she slowly eases her head out of the covers.

              The wardrobe door is shut tight.

                            *********************************************************

              The next morning Martha is beside herself with worry to find Lindsay gone. Emma lies and says she must have been asleep when the teenager left, and a lie has never made her feel so guilty. Children’s services are already there when the school bus comes for her and Tyler. Emma so badly wants to tell the social worker that it wasn’t Martha’s fault; that Martha is nice and she wants to stay here. But she’s too afraid of her lies to open her mouth.

              But at the end of the day, the school bus drops them off at Martha’s, and everything seems normal. Martha has even unpacked Emma’s suitcase. Inside the wardrobe are not only Emma’s meager shirts and jeans, but a couple of new outfits as well. There’s also a new pillow on the bed covered in bright flowers. A fluffy white bunny with a bright pink ribbon is propped up against the new pillow. Emma hugs it with delight.

              She wants to tell Martha thank you for the things she got her when they gather around the dinner table, but for some reason the words won’t come.

              Tonight, Emma’s Bible verse is “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”

                            *****************************************************

              Emma can’t sleep. All she can do is keep glancing at the wardrobe, wondering if it really opened last night, if the eyes were really there. Finally, Emma tells herself she’s being silly. She rolls away from the wardrobe, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She closes her eyes and wills herself to go to sleep. But then her heart stops. There it is. The squeaking again. The sound is longer this time, as if the door is swinging open, and Emma gasps.

              She whirls around and screams when she sees a dark shape through the half open wardrobe, blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as they gaze at her. The door flings open and Martha rushes in.

              “Emma, sweetie, what is it?”

              “There’s something in the wardrobe!” she cries, turning and pointing. But the door to the wardrobe is completely shut.

              Martha chuckles as she brushes back Emma’s hair. “Oh, that’s just your imagination running away with you.” To prove her point, she goes to the wardrobe and flings it open. Emma yelps, expecting to see the blue-eyed monster standing there, but all she sees are her clothes lined up in a row.

              Martha tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, but Emma knows the truth. Something is in that wardrobe, and tomorrow night, she won’t let it scare her.

                            *******************************************************

              The next morning, children’s services are there again, this time to pick up Tyler and take him to his Aunt who lives in the next county. At dinner that night, Emma secretly loves that it’s just her and Martha. Her Bible verse reads, “A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”

              After Martha tucks her in that night, Emma crawls out from under the covers and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes intently at the wardrobe. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she won’t hide in fear. Not tonight. She isn’t imagining things; and she’ll prove it.

              Sure enough, just as she thinks she might nod off where she sits, the door of the wardrobe squeaks slowly open. First she sees those blue eyes, the bluest she’s ever seen. Then the dark shape is there. Emma eases to the end of the bed slowly on her hands and knees, and when she reaches the edge, right next to the wardrobe she can almost make out the shape . . .

              But then those sparkling blue eyes widen in fear and the shape shuffles backwards quickly, slamming the door shut. Inside, Emma hears a thud followed by desperate shuffling and gasping. Then another thud followed by the sound of crying. Emma jumps from the high bed and pads the three steps across the cold wood floors to the door of the wardrobe. She reaches up for the handle, hesitating only a moment before slowly pulling it open.

              All she can see at first are ten small toes peeking out from beneath the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Emma reaches up and pushes the clothes hangers aside. Now she can see a head of dark hair resting atop two skinny arms that are folded around two skinny legs. It’s just a little boy! A little boy curled up into a tight, frightened ball. His sniffling and crying echo in the small space.

              “Who are you?” Emma asks.

              The little boy lifts his head, revealing those blue eyes she has seen every night, this time shining bright with tears. His dark brown hair is in need of a trim and falls across his forehead, hanging almost in front of his eyes. His thin face is sprinkled with freckles. He lifts his hand and rubs it across his nose.

              “I’m Killian,” he tells her.

              “I’m Emma.” She cocks her head as she studies him. “Why are you crying?”

              He blushes at her question, and straightens up, pushing his legs forward. “I can’t get out the way I came,” he tells her simply.

              Emma motions for him to come to her. He crawls forward, reaching his hand out to her. She takes it and helps him hop down out of the wardrobe. He wears a nightshirt made of scratchy brown fabric that reaches his knees. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself.

              “Come on, I’ll give you a blanket,” she tells him, hopping up on the bed. He follows her, and she wraps a giant patchwork quilt around the two of them.

              “This is warm” Killian says, holding it close.

              “Martha makes them for the children she takes care of,” Emma explains.

              “Is she your mother?”

              Emma shakes her head, “No. Just a lady who’s taking care of me. I never knew my mother.”

              Killian’s head drops, “My mother died.”

              “I’m sorry,” Emma frowns. “My parents left me when I was a baby.”

              “My father left me,” Killian says, “that’s why I’m a slave now.”

              “A slave!” Emma exclaims. Killian winces, and she feels bad. She hadn’t meant anything against him. “We learned in school that slavery ended,” she hastens to explain.

              Killian shakes his head sadly. “Not where I come from.”

              Suddenly, a shaft of light falls across the bed. Emma and Killian both turn their heads in surprise towards the wardrobe. The light is unusually bright as it falls through the open door.

              “That’s weird,” Emma comments, her brow furrowing.

              The two of them scramble down from the bed to peer inside the wardrobe.

              “Woah,” Emma breathes, for no longer does she see her clothes or the back of the wardrobe. Instead, she sees a room of wood, rocking gently back and forth. Barrels and boxes fill the room, and men and boys sleep in hammocks hanging from the beams of the ceiling. Everything is damp, and Emma can smell salt and something musty. The air blowing through feels warm and wet against her face.

              “That’s the hold,” Killian tells her, “of the ship where I’m a slave.”

              He scrambles inside the wardrobe, but Emma grasps his arm, “Wait, you can’t go yet!”

              He shakes his head, “My brother will worry. We’re all each other has.”

              Emma drops his arm, her face falling, but she understands. If she had any family, any at all, she would stay with them. She would never let them go.

              “Will you come back tomorrow night?” She asks, tentatively biting her lower lip.

              Killian grins brightly. “Aye, lass.”

He turns to go, but then seems to hesitate. He spins back towards her, his face flaming red, and pecks a quick kiss against her cheek. Then the light is shining so bright in the wardrobe that it blinds Emma and she has to look away. Then Killian is gone, and Emma stands there with her hand to her cheek.

              **************************************************

The next morning at breakfast, Martha seems different. Her eyes seem distant, and her words make no sense. Then half her smile falls down unnaturally, and she slumps against the table. Emma shouts her name, trembling all over, then dashes for the phone to call 911.

That evening, a social worker stands in Martha’s living room waiting for Emma to pack. Emma pulls her suitcase from the wonderful bed covered in Martha’s bright quilt. She grabs the bunny and buries her face in the soft fur. Her eyes catch the wardrobe, and she frowns. Killian won’t understand when she’s not here. She takes a deep breath and before she can change her mind, she dashes to the wardrobe and sets the little bunny inside.

When she walks out of the room, she can’t help giving the wardrobe one last look over her shoulder.

 

**Age 16**

Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.

Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.

Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.

She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there _was_ no peck on the cheek because it _wasn’t real_.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually _liked_ her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and a pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar squeak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock.

“Emma?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought you were an imaginary friend.”

He smiles, and it lights her up inside. “Liam said the same when I told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in my captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll _definitely_ be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Bobby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s my tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.” Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Nevertheless, I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, I hope this home has been good to you?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Ingrid, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But _me_ being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 19, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words make her wonder, not for the first time, if their wardrobe is some sort of time portal. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says its only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

Emma turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his. “What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one chaste kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.


	2. As Time Goes By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See? I promised - chapter two! Can you believe it?  
> * This is where canon stuff comes into play, or I should say, this is where we diverge from canon.  
> * This is also where the attempted rape scene comes, just to give a trigger warning. If you want to skip that part, it will be pretty obvious where it starts. It does get a little violent, I won't lie.

**Age 23**

              Jackie is in her seventies, or at least looks like she’s in her seventies, and her house is at least a hundred years old. But those are the only two similarities either the woman or the house share with Emma’s beloved Martha. Where Martha’s house was old and a little worse for wear, it was still well loved and kept clean and tidy. Jackie’s house is only a few steps above being condemned, and as for cleanliness, well, Emma almost chokes on the stench. But after weeks on the road in her bug, it’s all Emma can afford.

              Jackie isn’t in much better shape than her house, her face drawn and scowling, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. Where Martha had been soft and gentle, Jackie is all sharp lines and harsh edges. Her voice is rough as sandpaper, her words like vinegar. There definitely is no little box of Bible verses in this woman’s kitchen.

              The room Emma is renting is in slightly better shape than the rest of the house; the previous renter had at least known what pine-sol was. It’s about as small as her room at Martha’s when she was ten, yet it does have a tiny bathroom attached and the fireplace actually works. In one corner is crammed a miniscule table and chair, and in the other –

              Is a wardrobe.

              Emma drops her duffel on the scuffed hardwood as her jaw almost comes unhinged. There’s no mistaking it this time: It’s the same one she had in her room at ten and sixteen. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Seriously? She berates herself, not for the first time, for her decision to come back to Minnesota. After jail, she had spent a year in Phoenix while she saved up enough money to get to Tallahassee. She foolishly wasted two years there. She still kicks herself for thinking Neal would actually find her. What did she think this was? A rom-com? It isn’t. Her life is no Hallmark movie, no fairy tale. She glances at the wardrobe.

              Even if a dashing slave/cabin boy had come to her through an enchanted wardrobe.

              She sighs and pauses before unzipping her duffel, then decides to just slide the bag under the bed. It isn’t quite as large or ornate as her bed at Martha’s, but it’s still a four-poster with ample room underneath.

              She purposely ignores the wardrobe the rest of the evening, refusing to give it even a glance as she cooks up a supper of ramen noodles with her hot plate. She stares at the noodles in her bowl, the desire to look over in the opposite corner stronger than she would care to admit. Why didn’t she just go straight up the eastern seaboard? Or due west along the gulf?

              She stays in the shower longer than necessary, despite the layers of scum on the avocado colored subway tiles. She comes out in nothing but a towel, grasping it tight with one hand as she fishes in her duffel with the other. Normally, alone in her room, she’d just walk around naked. But she can’t help remembering those blue eyes she saw watching her as a girl. She chuckles wryly at herself and ceases searching her bag. She stands up straight, pushing her wet hair from her eyes, and drills her gaze into the wardrobe. With a huff she stomps over and flings the door open.

              A handful of empty wire hangers swing and clang together from the post inside. That’s it. Empty. Emma laughs at herself as she shuts the door. She lets her towel drop to the floor as she returns to her duffel. With two hands, she finds her pajama pants and tank top quickly and slips into them. She’s just crawled into bed and is reaching over to flip off the bedside lamp when she hears a squeak. She pauses, her hand hovering in midair between the bed and the lamp. She turns her head slowly towards the wardrobe.

The door suddenly swings open.

              “Emma? I’ve tried this wardrobe a hundred times . . . ”

Her mouth falls open at the sight of the person on the other side. She eases slowly from the bed in shock and steps closer.

              “Killian?” she questions softly, wrapping her arms around the post of the four-poster bed. The same blue eyes as always stare back at her, but he has changed so much. Those eyes are now rimmed with dark kohl, and his face has a hardened edge that is brand new. His hair is the same dark shade, but instead of the shoulder length and the boyish lock of hair falling in his eyes, it is now a bit shorter and messy in a dangerous sort of way. Instead of a nightshirt, he wears tight, black leather pants and a long black leather coat over a black shirt and red vest. The buttons of his shirt are undone almost to his navel, revealing thick, dark hair on a hardened, muscular chest. The naïve, hopeful boy she had known has obviously grown into a world-weary man.

              And then there’s the hook. A large, shiny steel hook where his left hand used to be.

              The harshness of his face softens as he takes in the sight of her, and when he speaks, the roguish smile he gives her and cocky arch of his brow seem slightly forced. Like a long-practiced act he’s performing for the first time in her presence.

              “Actually, love, people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker: Hook.” His face falls even as he brandishes the intimidating appendage. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again, lass. It’s been so long.”

              Emma shrugs, the corner of her mouth hitching up. “Only seven years. Give or take.”

              His eyes widen in surprise. “Seven? It’s been hundreds for me.”

              Emma’s arms drop from the bedpost and she steps directly in front of him. She narrows her eyes as she asks, “Hundreds? How is that possible? You’re still so young.”

              “I’ve spent most of it in Neverland, where time stands still. But you, how did you . . .”

              He trails off as Emma’s mind reels. He’s been in Neverland. He’s dressed like a pirate. He has a hook. When she speaks, it’s almost hesitant. “You mean . . . you’re _Captain_ Hook?”

              His eyes light up and a look of pride fills his face. His voice is full of bravado when he speaks. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”

              Emma suppresses a laugh. “Well, there’s a book. And movie. Several movies, actually.”

              He cocks his head for a moment as he searches her face, a look of slight confusion upon his own. Then some sort of realization seems to wash over him, and he deflates his posturing. “The portrayal was far from flattering, I see. I – I’ll leave you.”

              “Wait!” Emma cries out even as he turns to go. Without thinking, she reaches out and grabs his hook to stop him. When he turns, he looks in surprise at where her fingers curve around the steel. So he’s . . . Captain Hook. Is that so much harder to believe than having a friend that walks through an enchanted wardrobe? She smiles up at him. “Stay.”

              He seems almost transfixed as she pulls him out of the wardrobe and towards the bed. She sits and gently tugs him down with her, her hand still clutching his hook. It doesn’t scare her, didn’t for one second. And it’s hard to explain, but holding it seems . . . right. Comforting, even. She sets it in her lap and squeezes it as she gazes into his face.

              “Tell me what’s happened since I saw you last,” she encourages, as she would to a long lost friend. Because that’s what he is. The only one she has or has ever had, come to think of it.

              He clears his throat, still staring at his hook in her lap. “I’m afraid there’s an awful lot to tell.” The slightly embarrassed chuckle and ear scratch that he gives her reveals the boy still inside him.

              Emma shifts closer, “Just the highlights, then. It’s not like I have anything important do.”

              So he begins to talk. The accented voice she has always loved rolls over her like a warm embrace, but the story breaks her heart. He tells her about losing his brother Liam and why he became a pirate. His voice breaks as he describes the elder Jones dying in his arms, and Emma tugs his arm up and over her shoulder. A tear tracks down his cheek as he tells her about Milah, about watching Rumplestiltskin crush her heart and being helpless to stop it. He turns his face away as he speaks of embracing the darkness and becoming a villain. Emma leans closer and rests her head on his shoulder to let him know it doesn’t change anything.

              “I’ve been talking on and on about nothing but myself,” he tells her, his lips brushing against the crown of her head. “That’s bad form, love. What about your life? Less tragic than mine, I hope.”

              Emma lifts her head to look into his eyes, so intensely blue as they study her. “I’ve had my own share of tragedy.” She lets out a shaky breath and then tells him about Neal and jail, and then . . . she speaks for the first time about the baby she gave away. Confesses for the first time out loud about how giving him up tore her heart in two.

              Killian holds her tighter as the tears break free. She turns in his embrace, fisting her hands in his shirt and sobbing into his shoulder. When her tears are spent, there is a dark, wet spot on his shirt. She laughs sardonically as she wipes at it.

              “Look what I’ve done to your shirt.”

              “Tis nothing, love.”

              Emma suddenly realizes that both her hands are splayed against his chest, and she can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. She lifts her head and sees his face so close to hers. Her eyes flicker from his bright eyes to his lips, and her thoughts tumble backwards in time to their first kiss when his lips were so soft and welcoming, and how the feel of them on hers made her heart soar. They both lean towards each other, and then their lips are brushing. They sort of melt against one another as they deepen the kiss, and it’s simultaneously just like when they were sixteen and vastly different. The softness, the tenderness, and the heart swelling rush are all still there. But there’s fire and passion wrought of pain and loss that sparks and sets them both on fire.

              What comes next happens in a sort of haze, as if Killian is a drug she can’t resist. Hands and lips feverishly exploring, and clothes peeled back and cast aside with a mixture of frenzy and reverence. When Emma removes his brace, he stiffens and closes his eyes in shame. She lifts his left arm and runs her fingers across the scars there, then kisses it tenderly. He tells her around an obvious lump in his throat that no one has seen or touched it since the day he lost it. She presses it to her breast and pulls him close for a hungry kiss. She wants him to know he isn’t disabled or broken, not to her.

              Then they’re falling as they come together, Killian practically worshipping every inch of her as if she’s an angel he doesn’t quite deserve. And Emma is almost overwhelmed with the intensity of it, and she wonders why she ever thought she loved Neal.

              Because it was never like this.

              They are still breathing heavily, yet sated and slightly drowsy in each other’s arms when the light pours out of the open door of the wardrobe. Emma cups Killian’s face and runs her thumb along the scar on his cheek.

              “You have to go,” she whispers brokenly.

              He presses his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, and then brushes her lips with the lightest of kisses. Then he slips from the bed and begins to gather his clothes. As he steps into his leather pants, the light of the moon sends a shaft of light across his back, illuminating the criss-cross pattern of scars she had traced earlier with her fingers. She remembers the trembling slave boy of ten, and the hesitantly hopeful cabin boy of sixteen, and she wonders if the scars were there even then.

              Killian finishes dressing with a click of his hook into his brace. The sound of it echoes in the quiet room, and she sees his jaw tense with shame. Giving him her body clearly wasn’t enough to wash that away, and it breaks her heart.

              “Emma,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “I’m not the boy you once knew. I know I wasn’t worthy to share your bed tonight, but know one thing.” He lifts his gaze finally to hers, and the moonlight brightens them. They are swimming with more emotion than anyone has ever bestowed upon her. “I have _always_ loved you. _That_ has never changed.”

              She sits up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest as she watches him walk to the wardrobe. She wants to tell him she loves him too, but she can’t get the words past her throat. He steps into the wardrobe, and a slight panic seizes her that she can’t speak. He turns to look at her, giving her a tender smile.

              “Can I come back tomorrow night?”

              Her heart soars at his question, tears filling her eyes. “Yes.”

              He gives a simple nod, pulls the wardrobe closed, and the light is gone. He is gone. A strangled sound comes from Emma’s throat as she curls in on herself. Every time she and Killian have spent a night together, the next day her world comes crashing down. First Martha’s stroke, then the fiasco with Lily and running away.

              She doesn’t expect to be here tomorrow when Killian returns.

                            *********************************************************

              Emma is on pins and needles all day long, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s such a bundle of nerves at her new waitressing job, that she spills coffee and breaks two dishes. She berates herself, thinking she’s going to end up her own worst enemy and get herself fired. But her boss is surprisingly patient, chalking it up to first day jitters.

              It’s jitters, all right. Fear of the universe screwing her over again, for one. And then the more pleasant kind of jitters, the kind that has red creeping up her neck and butterflies doing a chorus line in the pit of her stomach. The memories of last night with Killian are making it incredibly hard to concentrate on the here and now.

              Surprisingly, Emma makes it to the end of the day without any major catastrophes. Her bug starts just fine, and nothing looks amiss when she gets to Jackie’s. She unlocks the back door entrance to her rented room with her eyes closed. She isn’t sure what she expects. A fire? A flood? Neal? She chuckles ironically at that last thought. She spent two years looking, waiting, pining. Now Neal is the last person on earth she wants to see.

              But when she opens her eyes, nothing is amiss. Yet her feeling of dread doesn’t abate as the night wears on. The mac n cheese she makes for supper sticks to her throat, imaginary sounds assault her in the shower, and her hands shake as she slips into her pajamas. (Though she doesn’t worry about dropping the towel – Killian is welcome to look now.)

              She climbs into bed wide awake. If she was the type, she would read a book to pass the time. She wishes there was a TV. Instead, she lies there staring at the cracks in the ceiling. As time ticks on, she sits up and hugs her knees like she’s ten again and stares at the wardrobe. Could it be possible? Have she and Killian finally defied fate?

              As if fate has a sick sense of humor, Emma hears at that very moment loud shouts from the main part of the house. Then crashes, things breaking, and a scream. Emma curses herself for her delayed reflexes; she’s entirely too off her game tonight. She leaps from the bed and grabs a poker resting against the fireplace and hoists it like a club just as two burly, tattooed men burst through her bedroom door. Emma swings the poker at them as they barrel towards her, but she may as well be swinging a toothpick at a grizzly bear. They sling her across the room, then lift her up and slam her against the wardrobe. The first of the two men, with a shaved head and biceps the size of boulders, squeezes her throat with both hands.

              “Where are the drugs?” he demands, shaking her.

              “I don’t know!” she gasps, clawing at the hands around her throat.

The second man begins to tear her room apart, opening drawers and flinging out their contents. He pulls her duffel out from under the bed and dumps it all out on the floor. Emma thinks of Killian and begins to kick her feet against the wardrobe door. It kicks her assailant, too, which is convenient, and one particularly hard kick lands right where it hurts most. He yells and drops her, and Emma scrambles across the floor on her hands and knees as she gasps in sweet air.

She’s just gotten to her bedroom door and grasped the knob when the second man grabs her by her hair and slings her across the room. She hits the side of her bed and slides to the floor. The man lifts her up, pinning her arms against her side, and shoves her onto the bed. He gets on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the bed.

“Let’s have fun with her,” he snarls to his companion, “then I bet she’ll tell us where Jackie hid the stash.”

Emma thrashes, but he has her pinned. She looks longingly towards the door, which has swung open. Her heart plummets when she sees Jackie lying there in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. The bald man chuckles at his friend’s suggestion and comes over the other side of the bed.

“Sounds fun,” he sneers.

Emma panics and claws at the men as they pin her arms above her head. “Killian!” she screams, turning her head towards the wardrobe. “Killian!”

“Shut up,” the men snap, one of them slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Emma turns and tries to bite him.

“She’s feisty,” the one on top of her says, his breath rancid, “this will be fun.” He pulls out a knife and holds it to Emma’s throat.

Just as the other man reaches down and rips at her pajama shirt, a blur of black leather comes crashing through the wardrobe with a feral yell. Killian yanks the man with the knife off Emma and slashes him across the throat with his hook before he can even lift his knife. Emma slides from the bed and to the floor, pulling her ripped shirt closed. The bald man flies over the bed towards Killian, and Killian spins out of the way. The man lands with a loud grunt, and by the time he scrambles to his feet, Killian has pulled a sword from a scabbard at his side. Before the man even realizes what is happening, the sword is plunged deep in his gut. Killian yanks the sword free, and the man crumples, dead in a pool of his own blood.

Killian spins towards her, his long leather coat swirling about his legs, his eyes a steely blue as he gazes at her with a tortured expression. She’s always been one to scoff at the whole damsel in distress trope, but at this moment, she has never seen anything more beautiful than this man. She swears he seems to glow like some avenging angel.

His face falls as he glances first at his bloodied hook and then at his bloodied sword. “You’re afraid of me,” he says.

Emma shakes her head, unable to speak as tears tumble down her cheeks. She knows how she must look, curled in around herself and shivering on the floor. “H-he ripped my shirt,” she says, hating how small and vulnerable her voice sounds.

Killian’s sword clatters to the floor, and he quickly wipes his hook on the bedsheets as he falls to his knees beside her. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

He then shrugs out of his duster and drapes the heavy leather over her shoulders. Emma clutches the coat closed and falls against his chest. He holds her as she weeps.

“Did I get here in time?” he chokes out, and she can hear that he’s crying, too.

She nods against his chest.

His hold tightens around her, and when his words come again, they are tight with righteous indignation, “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she whispers.

They fall silent as he holds her, running his hand through her hair. Eventually, his hand moves to cup her face and he gently tips her head back to look at him. “Emma, last night changed everything for me. For the first time in hundreds of years, light filled my heart. My revenge suddenly doesn’t matter to me anymore.” His thumb wipes at the tracks of her tears, and he smiles hesitantly at her. “Come with me, Emma.”

She looks long into those pools of cerulean and braces herself for him to say he’ll take care of her. It’s what men always say in these situations, at least in the movies, and while part of her longs for that, another part of her rebels against it. She doesn’t want to owe him or need him to the point she loses herself, like with Neal. Killian traces her jaw, then thumbs her chin, and she waits.

              He smiles at her and says, “We’d make quite the team, I’m sure of it. And I have a feeling there’s a little pirate in you, love.”

              Emma’s eyes widen in complete surprise. That wasn’t what she thought he would say at all. Even now, trembling in a ripped shirt, he’s still looking at her the way he did when she told him about kneeing Robby Eddleston in the nads. Like he believes that she can do anything.

              Emma glances about her. At this tiny room with cracks on the ceiling and yellowed paper on the walls. At the miniature table with only room for one lonely chair. What’s keeping her here anyway?

              Then her eyes take in the gruesome scene of three dead bodies. She’s the only survivor of this little bloodbath, which evidently has something to do with drugs. The cops won’t believe she’s innocent, not with her past criminal record. No one will vouch for her, the court assigned attorney won’t see a need to fight for her defense. Case closed, neat and tidy. She’ll go back to jail.

              Emma smiles up at her pirate in shining armor. “Why not?”

              His grin practically splits his face at her answer, and he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. He re-sheathes his sword, then before she knows what’s happening, he’s scooped her up in his strong arms. Emma rolls her eyes.

              “Killian, I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

              He smiles down at her with that crooked grin he’s always had, even at ten. “Never said you weren’t, love, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

              The wardrobe begins to emit that familiar glow as he turns towards it. Killian toes it open with his boot, then steps through with Emma in his arms. Behind her is death and decay, but before her is a stately Captain’s quarters with a bank of bright windows. Killian puts her down and she turns in a slow circle, still clutching his duster about her frame.

              “Its’s so . . . neat and tidy. I was expecting it to look more like the Black Pearl in the movies.”

              Killian scoffs, “That git Jack Sparrow? I take far more pride in my ship than he does. And why does he get a movie, too?”

              Emma laughs as she turns to him. “Do you even know what a movie is?”

              He scratches behind that ear again. “Um, no. But I like the idea of being famous even in your realm.”

              He grins at her cockily, rocking back on his heels. She turns and sees the wardrobe behind her. Emma reaches out a shaking hand in wonder. “Unbelievable. It’s just like the one in my world.”

              “Aye,” Killian remarks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She turns in his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.

              “I’m so tired, Killian.”

              “I’ll leave you then,” he tells her, “there’s a trunk in the corner of Milah’s old things. There should be a nightgown. You’re a bit smaller than she was, so we’ll stop in the next port and buy you some things of your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

              He kisses the top of her head and turns to go, but she grabs his hook to stop him. “Don’t go. Please.”

              He steps closer, eyeing her in return. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure . . .”

              His words make her melt inside. How could he ever have been a villain? She takes his hand and threads their fingers. “I trust you,” she tells him, “and I just want you to hold me.”

              He does as she asks, and his embrace combined with the swaying of the sea, lulls her into the deepest sleep Emma has ever had.

                            ********************************************************

              Killian is already above deck the next morning when Emma awakes. She finds some leather breeches, a shirt, and a vest in the trunk Killian had mentioned. But Killian was right, Emma is too small for the breeches. She has to settle instead for a dress. All the different pieces are a mystery to her, but she manages. The corset is particularly difficult, but without it the dress would swim on her. She feels slightly awkward when she climbs the stairs to the deck.

              Killian is standing at the railing, the early morning sun bathing him in light. She thinks again that he’s the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. He turns and smiles brightly at her.

              “Now that’s much better,” he tells her.

              Emma scowls as she arches her back. “Better? You don’t know what this corset is doing to my spleen.”

              Killian quirks a brow at her and speaks low, “Well, love it’s a cross I’ll just have to bear.”

              Emma rolls her eyes, a blush rising to her cheeks as Killian takes her in his arms. Emma’s gaze takes in the horizon, which is stunning, but then her eyes narrow in confusion. For there’s also a pinkish wall where the sky seems to meet the sea, and it extends all the way over them like a dome. Emma cranes her neck to look up at it, then meets Killian’s eyes with a curious gaze. “What’s all this?”

              Killian sighs, “I made a deal with a witch. Long story short, this is her spell. To protect this corner of the realm from being swept up in her daughter’s curse. Time is frozen here while it’s frozen for those under the curse. But a prophesy states that the curse will be broken in the 28th year. Then we’ll all be free.”

              “Okaaay,” Emma says as she loops her arms around Killian’s neck, “that makes perfect sense.”

              Killian shrugs, “It actually no longer matters. I’ve no need for the witch’s deal or my revenge. Now that I have you.”

              He bends and kisses her, and it warms her body and soul like always. But this time, a rush goes through her that’s different. A pulse of light seems to radiate where their lips meet, and a rushing wind blows through her hair. Emma gasps and pulls away. The pink dome of light around them sparks once, then disappears.

              “What the hell was that?” Emma cries out.

              Killian seems as shocked as she is, but before he can answer her, a column of smoke appears on the deck. When it clears, a beautiful older woman appears, her dark hair done up in an elegant bun. She is clad in a beautiful dark blue jeweled gown.

Killian pulls Emma flush against his chest and whispers in her ear, “Let me handle her, love.” Louder, he addresses their visitor in a voice of cocky bravado, “Cora, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

The woman, Cora, shakes her head and chuckles, “Oh Captain, it’s too late for your flattery. Especially when you have your arms wrapped around another woman.” Cora – Emma assumes this is the witch Killian alluded to earlier – then turns towards Emma, “Emma Swan. It is so lovely to meet you.”               Emma steps from the circle of Killian’s arms, despite his slight hiss of protest. “How the hell do you know my name?”

“Darling, I felt that pulse of true love magic.” She gestures towards the sky where her spell used to contain them. “And as you can see, it was intensely powerful. Only one person could contain that kind of light magic. Though I have to say, I’m a bit surprised at where true love led you. What will your parents say?”

Emma’s brow furrows at the witch’s words, and she turns for explanation to Killian. His face is filled with wonder as he stares at her. “So you’re _that_ Emma.”

“Yes,” Cora continues, “and she’s broken my spell. Of course, she can’t break my daughter’s curse until her 28th birthday, but thank you Hook for bringing her to me.”

Killian’s face hardens, and he swiftly pulls out his sword and points it at the witch’s throat. “I’m done with you, Cora. Our deal is off. And if you lay one hand on Emma –“

“You’ll what?” Cora chuckles. “Die for her? Oh, I’m sure you will. And as for deals, I don’t let people out of them any more than the Dark One does.”

Killian lunges at her, but she disappears in another column of smoke. Killian’s jaw clenches as he pulls Emma close. “No worries, love, we’ll find a way to defeat her.”

“Killian, what was she talking about? And you? You said I’m _that_ Emma.”

He grins at her, arching an eyebrow as he re-sheathes his sword. “Well, love, that’s quite the tale. It begins as most stories do. Once upon a time, there was a princess named Snow White . . .”

**Age 24**

The sun is setting behind the starboard side of the Jolly Roger, casting light across Killian’s dark hair and causing his cornflower blue eyes to sparkle. Emma stands across from him, clutching a bouquet of blue forget me nots. A crown of white roses rest atop her hair, which tumbles down her back in soft waves. Her dress is of white lace, and Killian leans forward and tells her she looks like an angel.

Captain Nemo, who stands at the prow, clears his throat and gently rebukes, “You aren’t supposed to be talking right now, Captain. You’re the groom.”

The small group around them chuckles, and Killian’s grin only widens. Emma shakes her head at him before handing her bouquet off to Tiger Lily, her maid of honor. She reaches out with both hands, grasping Killian’s hand and hook. Nemo takes them through their vows, and then Killian turns to his best man – the little brother he just recently found again – for the rings. They slip them onto one another’s fingers, Emma choosing to use her right ring finger to match Killian, and beam at one another with joy. Nemo pronounces them man and wife, and Killian grabs her for a passionate kiss, dipping her for good measure.

“Hey,” Tinkerbell shouts teasingly, “save it for breaking the curse!”

Another laugh ripples through this gathering of friends, and Emma turns tear filled eyes towards all of them. She can scarcely believe the home she has found on this ship and in this land. Perhaps it is because it is where she was born; where she always belonged.

She turns to Killian, wrapping her arms around his neck, reveling in the contented smile on his face. And him. It has a lot to do with him. He is her home. In a way, he always has been.

Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell step hesitantly forward as Emma kisses her husband – God, she loves the sound of that! – once more.

“Emma,” Tinkerbell says hesitantly, “we’ve discovered some disturbing things in Neverland. About your son.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “My son?”

The fairies exchange nervous glances before Tinkerbell continues. “Pan wants him. Why, we don’t know yet. I hate to tell you this on your wedding day, but –“

“Wait,” Emma stops her, holding up one hand, “I haven’t even found him yet, and Pan wants him?”

Killian pulls her close and speaks against her hair, “Don’t worry, love, Pan can’t get to him in the land without magic. He’s safe for now.”

Tiger Lily nods, “Hook’s right, and the reason we’re bringing it up is because we wanted you to understand why we must return to Neverland. We’ll help you keep your son safe. We promise.”

“You’ll be able to handle Cora without us?” Tink asks hesitantly.

Killian nods, “We’ve got the mermaids on our side now. Ariel in particular is anxious to keep Cora from Storybrooke since she found out her Prince Eric is there.” He turns with pride in his eyes towards Emma. “And my wife’s magic is getting stronger every day.”

Emma blushes at the admiration in his voice. Tiger Lily reaches into a pouch at her side and pulls out a vial of what looks like pixie dust. She places it in Emma’s palm.

“My wedding gift,” the fairy tells the new bride, “a cloaking spell for the Jolly. So you and Hook can have a honeymoon.”

Killian shakes his head firmly. “It’s too dangerous. Cora’s still out there –“

“Don’t worry about her,” Nemo breaks in firmly. “We’ll take care of Cora. You take care of your wife.”

Killian looks at Emma with heat in his sparkling blue eyes. “Oh I will,” he purrs for only her to hear, “thoroughly.”

              **************************************************

The rising sun awakens Emma far too early, and she turns her head into Killian’s bare shoulder as she pulls one of the many blankets piled on the deck of the Jolly Roger over her head. Making love in the open air under the stars had been a fantasy come true, but this is definitely the down side. Killian chuckles as she burrows deeper under a cocoon of blanket, and Emma lifts her head and scowls at him.

“Not everyone is an early riser like you,” she grumbles.

He runs his hand along her bare back and kisses her shoulder. The feel of his lips sends a heat skittering across her skin. “We’re a family now,” he finally whispers in a voice filled with awe.

Emma’s glad he can’t see the slight panic in her eyes or the way she gnaws her lower lip. She knows this is the perfect segue to telling him her news, but she’s petrified. It isn’t like the timing is all that great with this war with Cora looming and the curse to break. Not to mention she sort of feels as if she did this behind his back. She hadn’t exactly stopped to pack when she left the land without magic, so obviously her birth control pills were long gone back in Minnesota. But it wasn’t as if this realm didn’t have ways to prevent her condition. She had heard of herbal teas and questionable potions in marketplaces in every port. And granted, she and Killian had never discussed it, but what if he assumed she was taking care of it?

She told herself it was because she didn’t trust the backwards concoctions of this realm. But if she were completely honest with herself, it was really because she wanted this, deep down. A second chance after the baby she had given up.

“Love, is something wrong?”

Emma sighs deeply. She should have known he would pick up on her mood. She shifts to look up at him. As she gazes into his face that seems so content, she decides to go with a light-hearted approach. “It’s just you said we’re a family now. And I was thinking how that’s true in more ways than one.”

Killian had been idly running his hand down her arm, his eyes drooping drowsily. But at her words, his eyes fly open wide and he sits up quickly, the blankets pooling low around his hips.

“Wait, Swan, do you mean . . . that – that you’re with child?”

She can’t read his expression at the moment. Shock, obviously. But is it a good shock or a bad shock? She cocks her head. “Okay, first of all, it’s Jones now. And yes, I’m _with child_.”

Killian laughs with joy and pulls her close for a passionate kiss. He brushes her hair back from her face, and Emma thinks his eyes right now are glittering brighter than a pair of sapphires.

**Age 27**

Killian hears a pair of tiny feet pattering against the planks of the Jolly Roger as he stands staring out to sea. “Daddy! Daddy!” his three year old daughter squeals.

Killian turns and scoops her up, her giggles bright as he peppers her face with kisses. She has Emma’s jade green eyes and dimpled chin and Killian’s dark hair and elvish ears. The freckles scattered across her pert nose are from both of them. He can’t think of a better tangible image of their love than this little one in his arms.

“Uncle Liam says we’re going someplace special for Mommy’s birthday,” the little girl says as she fiddles with the necklaces around his neck. His daughter’s verbal skills at such a young age amazes everyone. Everyone but Emma. _You **have** met her father, right? _ His wife always says teasingly.

“You could say that, little love,” he tells her.

“Yes, Martha,” another voice says from the other side of the deck, “I would say where we’re going is _very_ special.”

Killian smiles fondly as Martha rushes to his first mate with squeals of “Uncle Liam!” Killian still sometimes doesn’t feel worthy of this: his relationship with his little brother, the love of his wife, the adoration of his daughter. Not after every wicked thing he has done. Yet love and forgiveness have been showered upon him whether he deserves it or not, and he isn’t going to take it for granted.

Liam scoops Martha up and explains, “You’re about to meet your grandparents and your big brother.”

Martha’s little eyes go wide. “A _brother?”_

Liam catches Killian’s eyes over her head, “Aye, lass. A brother.”

Killian claps Liam on the shoulder as he lowers his niece to the ground. “You could have taken over the Nautilus after we lost Nemo,” he tells his brother, voice thick with emotion. Nemo died heroically defeating Cora. The entire realm owes him a great debt for his sacrifice.

Liam shakes his head. “This is where I choose to be.”

“We have no idea what we’re sailing into.”

Liam shrugs and says simply, “We’re family.”

Liam Jones heads back to the helm and Killian turns as Emma ascends to the upper deck. Her hand rests at the tiny baby bump beneath the waist of her leather breeches. Martha bounces around her mother, a bundle of energy. Emma smiles at him, and Killian’s heart swells at her beauty. It only seems to increase as the years go by, for she possesses that inner beauty that never fades.

Emma turns and looks out to sea, clutching the railing with a white knuckled grip. “I’m nervous about going through this portal, Killian,” she confesses.

He comes up behind her and encircles her waist with his arms. He rests his hand against their unborn child. “It’s okay to be nervous, love. You and your family will have a lot to take in. You’ll all have to adjust and get to know each other. But never forget this,” he turns her gently to face him as his voice turns tender, “I will always, always, be by your side.”

She smiles up at him. A wobbly one, but a smile nonetheless. He takes her hand and pulls her towards the mast. With his hooked arm, he scoops up little Martha. Then he releases Emma’s hand to loop his harm around her waist and then weave it through the ropes. Emma grasps the ropes too with one hand then wraps her other arm around his waist.

“Ready?” Killian shouts to Liam.

“Ready!” his brother calls back.

“Hang on!”

Killian kisses the bean, then tosses it far out to sea. As it sails through the air, he thinks of the challenges and bloodshed required to obtain it. A portal swirls open, and Liam steers the ship towards it. Killian holds his two favorite girls close as the ship dips and plunges through.

**Age 28 (just a few hours later)**

The sun is coming up over the docks of the quaint Maine town as the silhouette of the Jolly Roger flickers on the horizon. Emma Swan Jones stands at the prow of the ship, her golden hair blowing in the morning breeze. Killian comes to stand at her side, his hand slipping around her waist.

“It looks so ordinary,” she whispers.

“But it’s cursed,” he replies, voice just as softly reverent.

“Not for long,” she teases him with a tender smile as she runs her fingertips along his jaw. “Are you ready to pucker up, pirate?”

His smile falters for a moment. “I can’t help remembering what Cora said years ago. What will your parents think?”

Emma thumbs his lower lip as she smiles up at him. “Don’t care.”

Killian’s eyes widen a fraction as he laughs, and then Emma yanks him to her. Their lips meet in a familiar dance, and a rainbow of light ripples across the water in the harbor. It washes over Storybrooke, Maine, coalescing in a burst of light. But Emma keeps kissing her husband. Just because she can.

When they part, Killian’s grin lights her from the inside out. She turns in his embrace to look back at the town, a furrow marring her brow. “How do we know it worked?”

The words are barely out of her mouth when the clock tower that seems to stand guard over the little town suddenly lets out a loud creaking sound. The hands of the clock first tick just one hair, then they suddenly begin to spin wildly, finally coming to a stop at 7 and 12. The clock then chimes out seven times to announce the hour. Emma turns to Killian with a delighted smile upon her face.

“Ready to meet your family, love?” he asks her.

Five years ago, she would have been terrified at the thought. But now, with her husband by her side, she is eager to discover whatever the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the first chapter of this story was so much more than what I was expecting. Thank you every one for your kudos and comments! I hope the second half lived up to your expectations. Happy New Year!


	3. After the Clock Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curse breaks in Storybrooke, and Snow and Charming are in for a few surprises when they meet their daughter for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I had requests for more of this fic, particularly of Emma meeting her family for the first time. But as I planned out this third part, I had even more ideas for this canon divergence, so I'm not sure how long this will get. There's Regina, of course, and even though Killian has given up on his revenge, that doesn't mean Rumple will be happy to see him. And Rumple orchestrated all this to be reunited with his son, who no one knows at this point is Henry's father. So how will all of that play out with Emma and Killian already married? See? Plenty more opportunity for angst . . .  
> * This chapter is told completely from Snow and Charming's point of view. But don't worry, later chapters will give you Emma and Killian's thoughts and feelings.  
> * I'm gifting this to kmomof4 because she just can't stop raving about this story. Krystal, I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!

              The late winter sun shines brightly on the snow drifts along the streets of Storybrooke, Maine. Mary Margaret Blanchard squints in the glare, pushing her hands deeper into the pockets of her pea coat. Just like the sun is merely a tease of the spring that is still so far off, life has once again teased Mary Margaret. Cruelly so this time. Making her think that some kind of joy was possible in her mundane existence when, in reality, it will always remain out of reach.

              David Nolan flings one last duffel bag into the back of his pickup truck which is already filled with boxes and suitcases. He turns to Mary Margaret, a pained expression on his face.

              “This is for the best,” he tells her in a strained voice.

              “For everyone but me,” she replies with false brightness, lifting both shoulders in a resigned gesture.

              David frowns. He takes a tentative step towards her, but when Mary Margaret backs away from him, he stops, his arms hanging awkwardly at his side. “Well,” he tells her, “I guess this is goodbye.”

              “I guess so.” She turns abruptly, unable to tell him good luck. Because it would be a lie. She doesn’t want him happy with Katherine. She wants him happy with _her_.

              She hears the pick-up rumble down the road, and she chokes back a sob as she hurries down the sidewalk. Huddling deeper into her coat, she tries to ignore the excited voice calling out behind her.

              “Mrs. Blanchard! Mrs. Blanchard!”

              Henry Mills is a persistent boy who won’t take his teacher’s hint as she tries to shrink further into her coat. He darts in front of her, turning around to walk backwards in her path. Mary Margaret groans when she sees the large leather volume open in his hands.

              “Henry, I’m not really in the mood for fairy tales right now.”

              Henry’s countenance holds a look of near panic, his eyes wide and darting. “But this is serious! Please tell me that wasn’t David’s truck driving off right now!”

              Mary Margaret stops suddenly, her hands coming out of her pockets, balled into tight fists. “Henry Mills, I mean it!”

              “But today is the day! It’s her birthday; Emma’s 28th birthday!”

              Mary Margaret’s mouth opens, an angry outburst on the tip of her tongue. She’s going to tell Henry that this is all his fault. For putting fairy tales in her head. For convincing her to read to the John Doe - David – in the hospital. For making her wonder what life would be like surrounded by family and friends who loved her. She doesn’t care that it will crush the heart of a student who has come to mean the world to her. She just can’t take his delusions and his irrational optimism. Not today.

              Thankfully, though, the words never come. Before she can say a word, a rainbow tinted ray of light washes over her, over Henry, over all of Storybrooke. She gasps as memories flip like a rapid slide show in her brain. And the best memories of all, the ones that fill her heart near to bursting are of –

              “Snow!”

              Mary Margaret’s breath comes out in a sob as she whirls towards the voice. She finds him, two blocks away, standing beside his truck, which is parked illegally, half on and half off the sidewalk. Marks left by burning rubber are left in the vehicle’s wake.

              “Charming!” she cries out, her voice cracking.

              They run towards one another, colliding in the middle of Main Street, lost in kisses that taste of both their tears.

              “You found me,” she tells him when he pulls away.

              “Did you ever doubt I would?” he replies, wiping her tears away with his thumbs as he cups her face.

              “Grandma! Grandpa!”

              They both weep amidst tears of laughter as Henry collides with them. They don’t know how it’s possible, but somehow they know that Henry is right. He’s theirs; his birth mother is Emma – _their_ Emma. Mary Margaret jerks away from the small group hug, her eyes widening as they meet David’s.

              “If the curse broke –“

              “then she found us too,” David finishes for her.

              “But how –“

              “Uh, guys,” Henry speaks up, “what’s that?”

              Mary Margaret’s eyes widen in wonder at what she sees. David instinctively steps closer, wrapping his arm around her. For there, on the horizon in Storybrooke harbor, is something they haven’t seen since leaving the Enchanted Forest.

              It’s a pirate ship.

                            ********************************************************

              By the time the ship reaches the docks, a small crowd of disoriented people are crowded at David and Mary Margaret’s backs. They are jostling, calling out questions to their former rulers.

              “Why are we still here?”

              “Where’s the Evil Queen?”

              “What’s that ship on the horizon?”

              Honestly, Mary Margaret is just as disoriented as everyone else. David yells for them all to calm down, but he honestly wishes for his sword right now to face whatever pirates may be heading their way. Of course, the memory of wielding one is still a little fuzzy in David Nolan’s formerly cursed brain.

              So when the ship’s gangplank lowers, all Mary Margaret and David can really do is stand, brave and proud, before the townspeople. Something stirs in David’s breast when a lone figure – a woman dressed in clothing of the Enchanted Forest with golden blonde hair tumbling down her back – descends from the ship. Mary Margaret seems to feel the same as she grips his arm tightly. The woman’s eyes seem to find his in the crowd first, and as she comes closer, something about their green color seems familiar. Then she smiles and Mary Margaret gasps and steps towards the woman with outstretched, shaking hands.

              “Emma?” she asks tentatively.

              Can it be? David almost doesn’t dare to hope . . .

              “Mom?” the woman asks, voice wavering.

              Then the two woman are in a hug, Mary Margaret sobbing, the other woman – their daughter! – hugging her back a bit hesitantly, tears springing to her eyes. The crowd behind them disperses, quietly whispering as they allow the royal family this private moment. David can barely put one foot in front of the other, but he does. He draws both women close, cupping the back of his daughter’s head just as he did the day he placed her in the wardrobe. Somehow, he knows it’s his Emma without a shadow of doubt. He can’t say if it’s her eyes or her chin – both so like Snow’s – or if it’s her smile, but he _knows_.

              “You found us,” Mary Margaret sobs as she pulls back, cupping the woman’s face.

              A woman. His baby girl is a woman. And at that realization, his heart breaks a little. The reality of all they have missed washing over him and overwhelming him with grief. And then Mary Margaret gives a gasp and rests her hand on Emma’s abdomen.

              “Oh, Emma,” she sighs.

              David’s feelings are a confusing jumble. Part of him, irrationally, is anger. But he already knew Emma had a son – Henry – years ago. So why does seeing this baby bump under her shirt and vest make his veins thrum with anger?

              “Yeah,” Emma says with a little nervous laugh, tucking her hair behind her ears, “a lot’s happened, I guess you could say.”

              Then Emma’s eyes widen and her face pales as she sees the boy standing just behind Snow. Now Emma’s hands tremble as she lifts them hesitantly.

              “Henry?”

              “Mom?” Henry looks shocked and overwhelmed as Emma cups his head and bends to kiss the top of it.

              “Henry, not a day has gone by these past ten years that I haven’t thought of you.”

              “Really?” Henry says, and Mary Margaret picks up on the notes of skepticism in his voice. Especially when his eyes drift to Emma’s rounded stomach.

              Emma nods, her eyes filling with tears. “I was just a kid myself, and . . . it’s a long story, but I wanted you to have your best chance. If I’d known that Regina would adopt you –“

              “Wait,” Mary Margaret interrupts, shaking her head, “how do you know about Regina? And sweetheart, we sent you _here_ , to the land without magic. How did you end up back in the Enchanted Forest?”

              “And on a pirate ship?” David adds.

              The smile that lights Emma’s face at that question is a familiar one to Mary Margaret. It’s the same look she gets on her face when she thinks of Charming.

              “Well,” Emma says, biting her lip, “that’s a long story. But first, I want you to meet two very special people. He wanted to give us a minute alone, but . . . “

              “He?” David asks, glancing with concern at Mary Margaret. She shoves in response, but she has a feeling she knows who _he_ is. Or who he is to their daughter, anyway.

              “Killian!” Emma calls up the gangplank. “Killian! Martha!”

              Then a dark haired man, dressed head to toe in pirate garb, is descending the gangplank, a little girl balanced on his hip. Emma hurries to meet them, pulling them eagerly towards her parents and her son. When they get closer, David’s eyes widen when he sees a hook at the end of the man’s left arm.

              “Captain Hook,” he bites out when the man gets closer. The pirate has the decency to duck his head in shame.

              “You mean Captain Killian Jones,” Emma corrects, “my _husband_.”

              “Your _what!_ ” David thunders.

              Mary Margaret glares at him and quickly steps between the two men. “And this is?” she asks in a sweet voice, reaching up to tickle the little girl in the pirate’s arms. The child buries her face in her father’s neck.

              “This,” the captain says fondly, “is our daughter Martha.”

              “Hi, Martha,” Mary Margaret says gently, “I’m your grandma.”

              The little girl turns hesitantly to look at Mary Margaret, and David sees his wife’s eyes peering out at them. Actually, the little girl looks a lot like Snow, except for the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

              “She’s not normally so shy,” the pirate says with an awkward chuckle.

              “Y-you had another kid,” Henry blurts out, “and you’re pregnant.”

              The boy looks pale and unsure of the situation, and Mary Margaret quickly pipes up, “Maybe we should all go get some lunch and get to know each other!”

              “That sounds _amazing_ ,” Emma enthuses, rubbing her pregnant belly, “it’s been _way_ too long since I’ve had some onion rings.”

              “Well,” Mary Margaret says brightly, “Granny makes the best! Let’s go!”

                            *********************************************************

              The little family reunion gathered in the booth at Granny’s is, honestly, an awkward one. This wasn’t how David imagined it. Okay, so he hadn’t really known _what_ this moment would be like, but he certainly hadn’t expected his daughter to already be a mother of three. Almost.

              And he certainly hadn’t expected her to be gazing in adoration at Captain Hook.

              Her husband?

              “So, Hook, last I heard, you were terrorizing the realms as a blood-thirsty villain.”

              “David!” Mary Margaret admonishes.

              Hook gives him a pained expression. “I won’t deny those accusations.”

              “But,” Emma quickly jumps in, “you’re not that man anymore.” David clenches his fists beneath the table as Emma brushes a kiss to the pirate’s cheek and squeezes his hook affectionately. His hook!

              “Daddy’s a hero,” little Martha pipes up. She doesn’t seem to expect anyone to disagree with this statement as she proceeds to shove a French fry in her mouth.

              “Hook – I mean, Killian,” Mary Margaret jumps in, “how did um . . . you two meet?”

              Hook laughs gently as he gazes into Emma’s eyes. The two of them share a weighted look, and then Emma leans her head on his shoulder.

              “We met when we were kids,” Emma says, voice almost giddy. She tilts her head up to look at her husband with unabashed affection. “He was so adorable back then. Gave me my first kiss.”

              “Uh, just on the cheek,” Killian quickly clarifies when he catches David’s glare.

              Mary Margaret exchanges a confused look with her husband. “How was that possible?”

              Their daughter then proceeds to tell them an incredible tale about an enchanted wardrobe that involved, apparently, realm-jumping and time travel. David’s heart is a riotous mess as he thinks of how it should have been _him_ watching over Emma and protecting her. How it should have been _him_ to teach her how to sword fight and use her magic. Not this . . . _pirate_ , this former _villain_.

              “What about my dad?” Henry pipes up in a small voice.

              The table falls silent as Emma looks at the ten year old with a sad expression. She presses her lips together and the silence stretches out awkwardly.

              “I mean . . . it’s not him . . . is it?” Henry asks, gesturing to Hook.

              “No lad,” the man answers, “though I would be honored if I were.”

              “How do you know?” Henry snaps. “You don’t know me!”

              “Henry –“ Emma starts, voice gentle.

              “And you!” Henry shouts, jumping out of the booth. “You forgot about me and had another kid! You never loved me!”

              He runs out of the diner after that, leaving his book of fairy tales lying there on the table. Emma leaps from her seat to go after him.

              “Emma!” Killian calls after his wife. He picks up the book and hands it to her, “This might help.”

              Emma nods as she takes it, then she reaches into the pocket of her breeches and pulls out a small vial. “A protection spell. Rumplestiltskin is around here somewhere, and I don’t want you taking any chances.”

              The pirate nods, his expression serious. Then Emma dashes out the door. If the silence was awkward before, it’s positively charged now. Little Martha, oblivious to the tension between the adults, whines as she crawls into her father’s lap.

              “This little one is sleepy,” Killian explains, “I should get her back to the ship.”

              “Nonsense!” Mary Margaret tells him. “Get a room here at Granny’s.”

              “Honey,” David chuckles, “I’m sure they’re used to sleeping on his . . . boat.”

              “It’s almost winter,” Mary Margaret snaps, narrowing her eyes at her husband, “and that’s our granddaughter.”

              David sighs as he looks at the adorable three year old. Her eyes droop her and her head lolls against her father’s chest. “Of course.”

              Mary Margaret calls for Granny and insists that she help Killian get a room. The old woman glowers at the pirate, clearly recognizing him, but Mary Margaret is persistent. Granny finally caves when Mary Margaret calls the man her son-in-law, and David massages his brow wearily at the way Granny’s eyebrows fly to her hairline. The man follows Granny, cradling the little girl expertly in his arms despite his hook. Once he’s out of earshot, Mary Margaret smacks David in the chest.

              “How could you be so incredibly rude!” she scolds. “The _first_ day we get our daughter back, and you’re acting like a toddler.”

              David’s jaw drops. “You can’t tell me you’re happy about this! Our daughter married a _pirate_. Last time we were in the Enchanted Forest, he was a _villain_. Sometimes in cahoots with Regina, from what I heard.”

              Mary Margaret puts her hand gently on his arm. “But did you see the way our daughter looked at him?”

              David stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest. “No. Not really.”

              “It’s the way I look at you, honey. And he looked at her the same way.”

              David grumbles and Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.               “And need I remind you, David, that the curse just broke?”

              David shakes his head in confusion, “Of course I know that!”

              Mary Margaret gives him a withering look. “And what breaks curses?”

              David groans as realization washes over him. “Oh no, you can’t mean –“

              Mary Margaret nods. “True love’s kiss can break any curse.” She gestures back down the hall where Captain Killian Jones – Captain Hook – has just disappeared. “That, sweetheart, is our daughter’s true love.”          

             


	4. Magic Comes to Storybrooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma tries to connect with Henry while the Charmings tentatively reach out to their new son-in-law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain Swan are apart in this chapter, but I really love the family dynamics here. And I adore writing Daddy!Killian

              Catching up to Henry under normal circumstances would probably have been easy. Emma is incredibly fit after years in the Enchanted Forest wielding a sword at her husband’s side. But she’s currently six months pregnant, and her kid inherited her speed, so she finds herself panting and lost in the middle of main street.

              “He’s probably at his castle,” a voice says to Emma’s left. She turns and sees a man with red hair in a tweed suit; a dalmation at his side on a leash. Emma blinks, not sure which throws her more: that her son has a _castle_ of all things, or that a town full of Disney characters includes a dalmation.

              “And who are you?” she finally can’t help asking with a tilt of her smile, “The guy from _101 Dalmations_?”

              The man chuckles. “No, although this is Pongo,” he says gesturing to the dog. Emma comes closer, bending down to pet the friendly canine.

              “But you are a fairy tale character I’m assuming?”

              He seems a little embarrassed at that. “Yes, in another life, I was Jiminy Crickett. But here I’m Archie Hopper, psychiatrist.”

              Emma shakes his offered hand, “Okay, I get it. The conscience thing.”

              “That’s right, and I have to say I’m a bit relieved that the curse breaking didn’t turn me back into a cricket.” They both laugh, but then his face grows serious. “I’ve been Henry’s therapist for some time now. I had no idea of course who Regina really was, and I’m afraid I allowed her to manipulate my treatment of Henry.”

              Emma frowns. “Did she hurt him?”

              “Not physically, but she was . . . possessive, controlling, manipulative. She adopted Henry to fill a hole in her life. Of course, that in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I’m afraid it never went beyond that. It was always about her, not what was best for Henry. And you can imagine how upset she became when he got that book.”

              Emma’s gaze falls to the sidewalk as her heart breaks in a thousand pieces. “I wanted him to have a home,” she whispers. “They were going to put him in the system while I fin – until I got on my feet. I didn’t want that for him. If I had known –“

              Archie puts his hand gently on her arm. “I’m not telling you this to lay blame on you, Emma. You had no way of knowing. Giving a child up for adoption is one of the bravest, selfless things I know of. I just want you to know that Henry’s going to have –“

              “Walls,” Emma finishes for him sadly, “I get that. Believe me.”

              Archie directs her to Henry’s “castle” – a wooden playground by the water. She clutches the book of fairy tales tightly as she approaches, her mind swirling. She at least now has experience as a mother, but she still gropes her mind for what to say to him. She has been in his place, after all, and she understands his anger all too well.

              “Hey kid,” she says softly as she takes a seat beside him, resting the storybook on her lap, “it’s been quite a day, huh?”

              Henry just shrugs, turning away from her to gaze out at the water. She studies his profile, seeing Neal in every feature. It doesn’t hurt the way she thought it would. This is her son, and all she cares about is his happiness.

              “You look just like your dad,” she says softly, without thinking.

              Henry looks at her with wide eyes. “Really? Who was he? What was he like?”

              _Oh boy_. Emma wets her lips, hesitating for a moment. “He was . . . a firefighter. I was eighteen waitressing at this little diner. He would come in for pie after shifts real late at night. We would talk, and he was so nice . . .”

              Henry’s smile keeps growing the more she speaks. “Where is he now?”

              “He . . . died. In a fire.” She reaches out to brush his hair off his forehead as his face falls in disappointment, but he doesn’t pull away. She counts it as a small victory. She’ll have to tell Killian about her little fib. He won’t approve, she knows, but Emma can’t bear to cause her son any more pain. Besides, it isn’t like Neal is ever going to show up.

              Henry seems to mull it over for a moment, then smiles up at her. “So he was a hero.”

              Emma forces a smile. “Yeah, kid.”

              Henry sighs, glancing back in his lap for a minute. “I know you were trying to give me my best chance.”

              Emma puts an arm around him tentatively. “But it still hurts that I had your sister.”

              Henry looks at her rounded stomach for a moment, then a small smile tilts his lips. “Sister. I didn’t think of it like that. I’ve always wanted a brother or sister.”

              Emma lets herself relax a little bit. Henry has quite a hopeful disposition. Maybe she hasn’t lost him after all.

              “I hope this one’s a boy,” Henry continues.

              Emma nods. “You’re with me and Martha on that one. Killian on the other hand has his heart set on another princess, this one with blonde hair and blue eyes.” She bites her lip, wondering if it was wise to bring up Killian.

              “You’re married to Captain Hook? For real?”

              Emma chuckles. “Yeah, for real.”

              Henry shrugs. “I guess that might be kind of cool.”

              Emma bites her lower lip, thinking for a moment. “Henry, I know this a lot to take in. And if things feel weird to you, I get it. I don’t expect to instantly be welcomed into your life. But there’s one thing I want to make sure you know. I have always, _always_ loved you. And I will never stop loving you.”

              Without warning, Henry dives into her arms, and tears well up in her eyes as she holds him close. But then suddenly he’s tensing up and leaning away from her.

              “Uh . . . Emma? What’s that?”

              Emma turns to look over her shoulder where Henry is looking. Her eyes widen in fear at the sight of the billowing purple clouds crackling with magic. She turns towards her son, hunching over him and holding him close, praying it’s enough to protect him from whatever this is as the clouds wash over them.

                            ********************************************************

              David hesitates as he raises his fist to knock on the door. He glances at Mary Margaret, who glares, then nudges him in the ribs. He lets out a breath, then knocks firmly. Hook – Killian? – answers, his eyes instantly rising at the sight of the royals at his door.

              “I – uh,” David stutters, “that is, Mary Margaret thought –“

              “We _both,_ ” his wife cuts in, “thought you might like us to run to your ship and bring over some of your things.”

              Hook’s eyes soften at the offer, but before he can reply, a high, sweet voice calls out from the bed behind him.

              “Papa?”

              Hook abandons David and Mary Margaret without hesitation to rush to his daughter’s side. Her green eyes blink as a tear slips down her freckled cheek. Hook reaches down and tenderly brushes the child’s hair back from her sweaty brow. She reaches for his hook, which rests at her waist on the bedspread, and clutches it in her tiny fists.

              “What is it my little cygnet?” Hook asks in a voice far more tender than David would have thought possible from a pirate.

              “I want to go home!”

              Her tears come in earnest now, and she throws herself into her papa’s arms. Hook cups her head much the same way David had cupped Emma’s earlier, running his fingers through her dark curls. David shuffles awkwardly and glances at Mary Margaret. It almost feels as if they’re intruding.

              “There, there, love,” Hook croons, “what do I always say about home?”

              “Family is home,” little Martha sniffles, and David notices how clear her diction is for a three year old.

              “And Papa is here with you,” Hook continues, “and Mama will be back soon.” He eases the child back against the pillow, wiping her tears with the pad of his thumb, and tucking the blanket around her tiny frame. He sings a few bars of a lullaby, and soon Martha’s eyes have fluttered closed. Mary Margaret gives David’s hand a squeeze.

              “Sorry about that,” Hook whispers as he rejoins them.

              “No need to apologize,” Mary Margaret quickly whispers back.

              Hook steps out into the hall, but leaves the door open. “I appreciate your offer, especially since I’m unable to leave Martha.”

              “Having her things from the Jolly Roger may make her less homesick,” David says.

              “Perhaps,” Killian agrees, “but she’s not talking about my ship.”

              “She’s not?”

              Hook shakes his head, a sort of nostalgic look sweeping his face. “Neither Emma nor I ever had a true home, and we both wanted that, especially when Martha came along. So I found us a little cottage by the sea. Close enough to town to keep us well stocked in provisions, but secluded enough to give us privacy. We needed it in between voyages. My crew is like family, but a ship can get a bit claustrophobic.” He trailed off, seeming a bit embarrassed by his speech, and scratched behind his ear. “Nothing compared to what Emma should have had with you, but humble as it was, it was home.”

              David can see his wife’s face melting at the pirate’s words. He’s already charmed his way into her heart, that much is obvious. “I’m sure it was wonderful,” she says, patting the man’s arm just above his hook. “Tell us, Killian. How is the kingdom faring?”

              Killian already? David tries not to frown, but shouldn’t they find out more about this man before they welcome him with open arms?

              “Well,” the Captain says, rubbing his chin, “Cora’s spell kept a corner of the kingdom from being swept away in the curse. But just like here, time didn’t pass for us as it should have. Once Emma broke the spell, we found the ogres had returned in full force. I’m afraid your castle was looted and burned.”

              “Oh no!” Mary Margaret gasps, squeezing David’s arm.

              “But we raised up an army to route them. And defeat Cora. We earned Prince Phillip and Mulan’s trust after helping them awaken Princess Aurora, and Princess Jasmine of Agrabah and Alladin sent help from their kingdom once we helped them overthrow Jafar. We helped thaw Arrendele and sent Hans packing, so those royals were keen to help too.” Hook meets David’s eye. “Kristoff said to tell you hello when I got here, by the way.”

              “Kristoff?” David asks with a grin. “What’s he up to? Did he and Anna get married?”

              Killian chuckles. “Sure did. Emma and I were at the wedding; she and Elsa have become close friends.”

              Mary Margaret chokes back tears. “Oh, David, it’s just what we dreamed of for her. Friendships, making a difference back in our realm.”

              David’s jaw clenches. “And we missed it all.”

              “But she wasn’t alone,” Mary Margaret says, looking back at the man in front of them, “how can we ever thank you?”

              David’s eyes widen. “Thank him?” he can’t help blurting out.

              Mary Margaret gives him another stern look, and Hook ducks his head, his cheeks reddening. He clears his throat.

              “And um . . . Ariel asked me to give you her regards, your majesty.”

              “Ariel! Really? How is she?”

              “Irritatingly bubbly and chatty as always,” Hook chuckles. “I need to contact her and let her know the curse broke. She thinks Prince Eric might behere.”

              Mary Margaret’s eyes widen with glee. “He is! David, that fisherman, that’s Eric!”

              Hook suddenly stiffens. “Did you hear that?”

He slips back into the room and races to the window, his steel appendage held aloft. He pulls back the curtain over the room’s lone window. David, over his shoulder, sees a billowing purple cloud looming. He glances back at his wife in horror. They don’t have time to say anything. Hook lunges for the bed, covering Martha’s body as gently as he can before the cloud hits. David curls himself around Mary Margaret, who buries her face in his chest. It passes as quickly as it came, and David looks around hesitantly.

“Is she alright?” David asks as Hook slowly raises himself off the bed. The man chuckles lightly as he looks down at the little girl, still slumbering peacefully.

“That’s my pirate lass,” he says, “you know she slept right through a kraken attack once?” Then his smile fades, as he glances back out the window. “But what the bloody hell _was_ that?”

Before they can speculate, Leroy’s voice is breaking the silence as he comes barreling down the hall. “Magic!” he shouts. “Magic’s here! And the Evil Queen is throwing fireballs!”

The three of them intercept the dwarf as they race out the door.

“Leroy, slow down,” Mary Margaret says, lifting both hands to calm him, “what do you mean she’s throwing fireballs?”

“At Emma!”

Hook is shoving them aside now, already pulling a cutlass from the scabbard at his waist. “Watch Martha,” he orders, not caring that he’s talking to Prince Charming.

“Hell no!” David snaps. “I’m not about to let that witch harm my daughter!”

“Oh, she’s holding her own,” Leroy continues, “flinging bursts of light right back at queenie.”

“Wait, what?” Mary Margaret asks.

Hook raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” David asks in frustration.

“Your daughter is the product of true love,” Hook says as if this should be obvious, “she has magic. Light magic.”

David and Mary Margaret share shocked expressions, but Hook doesn’t wait to explain further. He strides purposefully towards the exit. David grabs him roughly by the arm to stop him, and the man practically growls as he jerks away.

“I have to help her! She’s my daughter!”

“She’s _my_ wife!”

Mary Margaret steps between them placatingly. She turns towards Hook, grasping his upper arms gently. “Killian, no one is doubting how much you care for Emma or your right to fight by her side. But think about what _she_ would want.”

David can see Hook’s inner turmoil in the clenching of his jaw as his gaze drifts back to the little girl sleeping peacefully on the bed.

“Regina has her magic back,” Mary Margaret continues, “which means Rumple does too. And I would think that either one of them would take great interest in the fact that your Emma’s husband and the father of her child.”

The agony written all over the pirate’s face says everything. He re-sheathes his sword and turns resignedly to David. “Take care of her for me?”

David claps his hand on Hook’s shoulder, and inclines his head towards the open door. “Take care of my granddaughter?”

Hook nods. It isn’t complete understanding between the two men. But it’s a start.

 


	5. Mother Dearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always written Regina according to canon - i.e. redeemed and accepted by the Charming family. But, a while back I read this article by TVLine. It was something like "ten things you didn't know about Once Upon a Time." Anyway, one of them was that they changed Regina's character at Lana Parilla's request because she was afraid it painted adoption in a bad light. I'm not making a judgment call on that one way or the other, just as a writer, I creatively asked myself, "I wonder how the show would have differed if they had kept Regina evil?" That question has driven this alternate version of her. Again, not a Regina hater, I just wanted to play with this idea as a writer. You can read my other fics and plainly see I don't normally write her this way. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up. So if that's gonna bother you, you may want to stop reading.

              Emma shoves Henry behind her, raising her hands towards the evil queen. It’s strange, after battling Cora, to fight with her daughter, who looks so . . . normal. She doesn’t look like the black clad witch everyone had told stories about back in the Enchanted Forest. Regina Mills looks like an everyday working mother in her sensible pantsuit and heels. Yet the snarl of pure hatred on her face says otherwise. And then there’s the fireballs. Definitely not normal. But thankfully, Emma Swan Jones left normal a long time ago.

              Emma’s magic meets Regina’s, and the fireballs erupt in a shower of bright sparks. Henry is trembling behind her, begging his mother to stop.

              “They’ll tell you lies about me, Henry!” Regina cries, tears coursing down her face. “No matter what they say, I love you!”

              Henry steps out from behind Emma, and she shouts for him to get back. But the boy tilts his chin in an eerily similar way in defiance to his adoptive mother. “Then change,” he tells her.

              Regina glances down at her palms, still crackling with red energy. Then a sinister calm seems to come over her face. She holds her hand out to Henry. “Come home, sweetheart.”

              Henry glances between the two women, his face conflicted. “But. Can’t I get to know my mom?”

              Rage fills the queen’s face again. “See? She’s trying to take you away from me!”

              Emma takes a step forward hesitantly, lowering her hands. “No one said that.”

              “But it’s what you’re thinking!” Regina screams. “It’s what your family always does. Ruining my chances for happiness!”

              The woman seems broken to the point that Emma almost feels sorry for her, as crazy as that sounds. She still doesn’t like the idea of her son living with the woman, especially after what Jiminy Cricket told her, but this woman _is_ the only mother Henry has ever known until a few hours ago. Watching his birth mother get into a full blown war with the woman could scar him for life. But before Emma can think of a way to get through to the evil queen, her parents come racing up to the playground.

              “Emma!” they both shout.

              Before Emma can react, Regina flings her arm out, and Snow White and Prince Charming are clawing at their necks and gasping for air. Emma lifts her hands to blast the queen.

              “Uh uh uh,” Regina taunts, “I wouldn’t do that savior, or mommy and daddy will have snapped necks.” She turns wickedly to the couple in her choke hold, “Isn’t this my dream come true? The whole Charming family under my heel.”

              “Stop!” Henry screams, and Regina turns to him, her eyes wide.

              “Henry,” she says to him, “this isn’t what it looks like. I have no choice. They won’t let us be together.”

              “I’ll go home with you,” Henry promises, “just stop hurting them.”

              Emma isn’t sure what to do, her hands trembling first towards her parents, then Henry. But then Snow White and Prince Charming are released, and they fall their knees, gasping. Before Emma can react, Regina has grabbed hold of Henry, and they’re both gone in a puff of smoke.

              **************************************************************

              Henry waits for an hour after his mother tucks him in that night. Every minute feels like an eternity as he watches the numbers flip by on his clock radio. Finally, it’s ten o’clock, and he slips from beneath his covers and pads as quietly as possible across the room to his window. He slides it open slowly, inch by inch, then eases out onto the windowsill. He does the same when he closes the window again and grins as he makes his way slowly down the branches of the tree outside his room. But suddenly the branches are slipping and sliding out of his grasp, wrapping around his arms, legs, and waist. Then he’s being lifted into the sky until he’s hovering right in front of his window where his mother is leaning out.

              “Henry, how could you?” Regina asks. “You said you would stay with me.”

              Henry struggles against the branches that hold him. “This isn’t fair! I want to spend time with my mom and my grandparents. I even have a stepdad now!”

              Regina snaps her fingers, and the branches deposit Henry onto the floor of his room. She hauls Henry up, then deposits him gently on the bed. She sits down next to him. “I noticed your mother is pregnant, Henry. She doesn’t want you. She’s moved on after giving you away. To me.”

              Henry shakes his head. “She explained it to me. She was young and alone. My real dad died.”

              “Of course she said that, Henry, she’s trying to trick you. She thinks I’m evil, remember? But I’m not.” Regina flicks her hand, and a huge cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles appears in her hand. “See? I have magic, Henry. That doesn’t make me evil. And I can teach you! Together, we can have anything we want.”

              “I want to know my real family.”

              “No, Henry. I’m your mother. Being with me is what’s best for you.” She lifts the cupcake towards him. “Come on, take a bite!”

              “Is it poisoned?”

              “Of course not!” Regina chuckles. “Why ever would you think that?”

              “You poisoned grandma.”

              Regina sighs, flicking her hand again so that the cupcake disappears. “I’m only doing this because I love you, Henry.”

              “Keeping me prisoner isn’t love!” Henry cries.

              Regina frowns, remembering vines grabbing her right off her horse. She remembers Cora’s manipulations and stifling expectations. “Okay, Henry,” she finally relents, “tomorrow, I’ll take you to see Emma.”

              “Oh, thank you, Mom!” Henry exclaims, throwing his arms around her neck. “I can’t wait! Maybe Hook will take us all out on his ship!”

              Regina narrows her eyes. “What did you say?”

              “Hook. My mom married Captain Hook.”

                            ********************************************************

              “ . . . and they were just gone!” Emma finishes explaining to Killian. “I failed,” she tells him softly.

              Killian shifts closer to where she sits on the edge of the bed. He pushes her hair off her shoulder and trails kisses along her neck. When he reaches her collarbone, he nuzzles his nose against her soft skin. The tension leaves Emma’s body as she sags against him.

              “You didn’t fail, love,” he whispers in her ear. “It sounds like Henry is a brave lad. And I don’t think she would hurt him.”

              “Not intentionally,” Emma argues turning to face him, “but I worry the damage she’s doing without realizing it.”

              She leans against his chest, wrapping her arms around his bare torso, and Killian scoots back against the headboard to make them both more comfortable. He runs his fingers through her hair.

              “In the morning, we’ll start anew,” he tells her, planting a kiss to the top of her head. “Try to sleep, okay?”

              Emma sighs as she cards her fingers through his chest hair. “Hold me? Until I fall asleep?”

              “Of course.”

              But before Emma’s eyes can even flutter closed, there’s a pounding on the door to their room. Emma grumbles as Killian rises to re-buckle his brace and slip back into his black pirate shirt. He snaps in his hook as Emma cinches her bathrobe.

              “Whoever the hell that is better not wake up Martha,” she says irritably as she moves quietly through the small living area where Martha sleeps on the pull out sofa.

              Without turning on any lights, Emma opens the door, Killian at her elbow. They both squint at the bright hallway light. A man with slightly curly brown hair stands there with his hands on his hips. Pinned to his shirt is a gold star.

              Emma narrows her eyes. “Can I help you?” Her eyes flicker to the holster and gun at his hip right before he answers.

              “My name is Graham Humbert, and I’m the sheriff here in Storybrooke.”

              “Okaaay . . .” Emma says hesitantly, the memory of three dead bodies bleeding out on a floor in Minnesota flitting across her mind.

              “I’m here to arrest Captain Killian ‘Hook’ Jones on charges of high treason against the crown and piracy on the high seas.”

              “The hell you are!” Emma hisses, keeping her voice down only because Martha is still asleep in the room behind her.

              “You deny your husband committed piracy?” Sheriff Humbert asks as he pulls a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

              Emma shakes her head irritably. “Well, no, but . . . he’s made up for all of that. By defeating Cora and pushing back the ogres. He has full pardon from the kingdoms of Agrabah, and Arendelle, and –“

              “Emma,” Killian says gently, putting his hand on her arm and going to step around her.

              She shrugs him off. “No! You’re a hero! They have no right!”

              “He has no pardon from Queen Regina,” Sheriff Humbert speaks up, and that really sets Emma off.

              “Queen Regina! You gotta be freakin’ kidding me!”

              “Emma,” Killian says again, “think of Martha. I’ll go quietly, and we can sort all this out in the morning.”

              He steps out into the hall, and Sheriff Graham first removes his hook, then roughly pulls his arms behind his back to clap on the handcuffs. He hands the hook to Emma, which she clutches with a white-knuckled grip.

              “I love you,” she tells her husband.

              He grins cockily at her. “I know.”

Then he’s being shoved down the hall and outside. His grin falls now that Emma can no longer see him. He didn’t want her to know, but he isn’t entirely sure he’ll live until morning. But he’ll gladly put himself in danger to be sure his girls are safe.

 

             

             


	6. My Emma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, I was starting to second guess continuing this fic. I felt like I had lost the tone that I loved so much in the first two chapters. So, before working on this chapter, I went back and read the beginning of the story again. It had this whimsy and simplicity to it that I had sort of lost. So, I kind of apologize for chapters 3-5? I feel like I got back to the heart of this story with chapter six – I was really, really pleased with it. CS is actually apart for most of it, but I love Killian in this chapter. Anyway, I hope you all like it too!

Ten year old Killian Jones can’t seem to get comfortable in his hammock tonight. The ship creaks and sways, men snore loudly all around him, and the air just has this smell that clogs his nose and makes him gag. But normally, none of this keeps him from sleeping. Usually, his days are so brutally exhausting, that sleep comes swiftly. Even last week when he was forced to sleep on his stomach because of the bloody lashes criss-crossing his back, sleep had claimed him easily.

But not tonight.

He shifts again, his hammock swinging with the motion. In his new position, he sees something in the hold that is completely out of place: a large, wooden wardrobe. No one would keep such a nice piece of furniture in the damp, dark hold. Killian furrows his brow in confusion. Surely that wasn’t there when he first went to bed.

“Liam, _Li-am!_ ” he whispers, poking at the hammock above him. Liam just mumbles in his sleep, something only partially intelligible along the lines of _leave me alone, Killy_. Exasperated, Killian huffs and swings his scrawny legs over the edge of his hammock. He tiptoes across the wet wooden boards, his hand trembling as he reaches up to grasp the knob on the door of the wardrobe. He gasps when he hears voices, female voices, on the other side. He glances behind him, but when he sees that no one else is awake, he crawls up inside the wardrobe. Instead of a back, there is another set of doors. Killian is comforted to still see the ship’s hold through the open door he just crawled through, so he turns back around and pushes slowly on the second set of doors, opening them only a crack.

He sees a bedroom, lit with soft light from a bedside lamp. A little girl about his age, with blonde hair is being tucked into bed by a soft, wrinkled old woman with a gentle smile. Killian watches, fascinated, as the woman asks for a hug. He’s been surrounded by nothing but rough, loud men for so long, that he yearns to receive a hug for himself from someone so soft and warm. The little girl smiles as the woman embraces her, her eyes shut tight as she relishes the hug. But then her eyes, the color of seafoam, open and he quickly shuts the wardrobe. His heart pounds in his chest as he hears the little girl ask the woman – her grandmother? – about the large piece of furniture. The girl’s voice wobbles, as if she’s frightened, and Killian hopes she didn’t see him.

              He thinks that maybe he should go back to his hammock, but he can’t get those sea green eyes out of his mind, nor the way the girl’s hair had shimmered like gold from the lamplight. He’s never thought long on any lass, or found any of them pretty (not that he’s seen that many, spending most of his days aboard a ship), but this one is different. So finally, he musters up the courage to open the door a crack once more. This time, those green eyes lock on his, and the girl gasps and dives under the covers. He frowns as he pulls the door shut once more. He hadn’t meant to frighten her.

              The next morning, he thinks he’ll talk to Liam about the wardrobe and the little girl on the other side. But when his brother teasingly upends his hammock, depositing him unceremoniously upon the floor, Killian rolls over to find the wardrobe is gone.

                            *******************************************************

              Killian Jones starts up suddenly, the dream causing the sensation of falling just as his ten year old self fell out of his hammock. He’s disoriented at first, both from the dream and his surroundings. And now he remembers: he’s been arrested. He’s in a cell in the Storybrooke jail.

              “I’m impressed you could sleep so soundly on that cot.”

              Killian blinks the sleep from his eyes to see a dark haired woman in gray pants with a matching jacket, a strand of pearls around her neck, on the other side of the bars. He has to shake his head and squint before he realizes who she is.

              “The Evil Queen?”

              She chuckles, brushing imaginary lint from her pants. “Here I’m simply Mayor Mills. Or Regina. Whichever you prefer.”

              Killian gives her his best disarming smile. “Regina will do I suppose. And as for this cot, well, I’ve had worse accommodations.” He smirks at her for good measure as he puts his arms behind his head and lounges casually on the prison cot. He’d feel much more at ease in his swagger with his hook, but Regina doesn’t have to know that.

              “You’re not even going to ask me why I’ve got you locked up in here?”

              Killian closes his eyes, pretending to relax. “Your sheriff fellow rattled off some quite familiar charges. Pillaging, plundering, the usual.”

              “Actually,” Regina purrs, using that seductive tone that she used on him back when they were allies, “I have a job for you.”

              “Not interested.”

              “Even if it helps you skin your crocodile?”

              Killian sits up at that, opening his eyes to glare. “I repeat: not interested.”

              “I can help you get his dagger,” Regina tells him, her voice betraying a slight tremor, “and you can finally, after all these centuries, have your revenge.”

              Killian comes right up to the bars, so close he’s almost nose to nose with the Evil Queen. “I gave that up long ago. I’m a husband now, a father. I have no interest in becoming the next Dark One, thank you very much.”

              He blinks in surprise when Regina laughs sarcastically. “Oh please, just because you knocked up Emma Swan doesn’t mean you’ve changed. You’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face.”

              Killian’s jaw clenches. “Don’t talk about Emma that way. And yes, I’ve changed. True love does that to a person.”

              Regina scoffs, her eyes widening, “True love?”

              “How do you think the curse broke?” Killian can’t help arching a brow and curling his lips in a half smile.

              Regina recoils, “It can’t be true.”

              “Ah, but it is. So do what you wish to me. I won’t align myself with you again.”

              Regina grasps one of the bars in a white-knuckled grip as she leans forward, a look of disgust on her face, “You’re a fool. Love is weakness.”

              “That’s what your mother thought, and then my wife defeated her.”

              Regina blinked rapidly. “My – my mother? But you –“

              Killian chuckled, pacing to the back of the cell, where he leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms, “I was supposed to kill her for you, I know. But she made me a better offer, and then . . . well, my wife killed her anyway, so it all came out in the wash.”

              Killian smiles widely, relishing in Regina’s fury as she shakes the bars of his cell. He glances down at his fingernails, feigning indifference. “So why this desperation to kill Rumple?”

              “You should be desperate to see him dead too, you fool!” Regina snaps, “I wonder how you’d feel if he came in and found you all locked up?”

              “You didn’t answer my question.” He watches Regina as she avoids eye contact, and suddenly he thinks he knows. “It’s Belle, isn’t it? Have you had her locked up all these years?”

              “ _Had_ being the operative word,” she bites out.

              Killian tilts his head back and laughs. “Well Regina, I think you’re a bit higher on Rumple’s list of enemies right now, so . . .” he saunters back over to the cot and makes himself comfortable, “I’ll just wait here for my wife to rescue me.” He throws a cocky grin at Regina for good measure.

              The queen rolls her eyes. “You’re pathetic; as bad as the Charmings.”

              Killian pushes up on his elbows. “I’m warning you Regina, don’t underestimate my Emma. You have no idea what kind of power she possesses.”

              Regina’s nostrils flare as she shouts back, “And you and your pathetic little princess have no idea what _I’m_ capable of!” And with that threat, she disappears in a cloud of smoke.

                            *******************************************************

              A man who looks to be in his late thirties pushes his way off the crowded New York subway. He drowns out the cacophony of the city by sticking earbuds in his ears and turning up the music on his cell phone. He dashes across the street to his modest apartment, stopping in the lobby to get his mail before heading up to the third floor. He hums as he unlocks the door, then deposits the mail on the desk by the window. He frowns, noticing that he left the window open. He reaches up to shut it, but the window sticks. He pushes on it harder, losing his grip on his cell phone. He grabs for it, but it tumbles out anyway, breaking into pieces as it hits the pavement three floor below. He yanks out the useless earbuds as he curses under his breath.

              Suddenly, a pigeon alights on his windowsill. He moves to shoo it away, but pauses when he sees a postcard clutched in its talons. Leaving the card on the sill, it coos and flies away. He picks up the card, which has a picture of a clock tower and the words “Welcome to Storybrooke” on the front. He turns it over, his eyes widening as he reads the note scrawled there.

              “She did it. She broke the curse. You need to come, Baelfire. You have a son.”

             

             

 

 


	7. Royal Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma turns to her parents for help after her husband's arrest.

              David relishes the feel of his wife in his arms once again, tracing his fingertips down her bare shoulder and pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. Mary Margaret relaxes in his hold, coming down from their earlier bliss, her hand drifting across his chest and down his abdomen.

              “Well, you surely made up for the past 28 years,” she tells him on a breathy sigh.

              David chuckles, his chest puffing slightly at the praise. “Well, I do know what you like.”

              She simply snuggles closer, nuzzling her nose into his neck as she mumbles in agreement. David sighs heavily, brushing his hand across her cheek.

              “No,” she whispers to his unspoken question, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

             David frowns. His wife had awakened, thrashing, from a nightmare. But when he went to comfort her, she had yanked him close with a hungry kiss, pulling frantically at his t shirt. It had been so long, he hadn’t protested, just allowed the passion between them to simply engulf them both. But now he feels they need to discuss her nightmare.

              “Was it the burning room?”

              She remains quiet for so long, he starts to think she’ll never answer. “No,” she finally says.

              “Then what? We’ve always been open with each other, Snow.”

              She is quiet again, until he hears low sniffling sounds. She presses her face against his chest, and he feels the wetness of her tears. He whispers endearments against her hair and rubs her back gently, and then the weeping turns to sobs. When they ebb a little, she finally speaks aloud what has been on both their minds since the curse broke.

              “We should have used the flower, David. We should have gone to her. She was _right there_. It should have been us.”

              David cups her face and kisses her tear-stained cheeks. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

                            ******************************************************

              Emma rubs her palms up and down on her leather breeches and smooths her hands over the shirt that strains against her pregnant belly. The blue leather vest will no longer button comfortably across her. The breeches are snug too, truth be told. She’s gaining more weight already with this baby than she had with Martha. She’ll have to go shopping soon. And honestly, the thought of finally wearing jeans, leggings, and t-shirts again sounds like heaven.

              She takes a deep breath and raps on the door. She’s nervous coming here. First of all, she’s never needed help from anyone but Killian. Second, she isn’t used to _this_. Having parents she can turn to. And finally, the sun is barely coming up over the horizon. But she hasn’t been able to sleep. Not when she knows Killian is locked up in the Storybrooke jail.

              Her parents open the door to the loft faster than she would have expected, and neither of them look particularly sleepy. She narrows her eyes when she notices their flushed cheeks and her mother’s tousled hair. Oh God . . . has she just interrupted . . .

              “Emma!” her mother exclaims with a smile while pulling her bathrobe tighter around her middle. “Is everything all right?”

              Emma shakes her head to clear it. “Um . . . no, actually. The town sheriff came and arrested Killian after we went to bed last night.”

              Her father narrows his eyes as her mother gasps in concern.

              “I asked Granny to stay with Martha,” Emma continues, “because I was hoping you could help? Since you’re the actual rulers of the Enchanted Forest . . . right? You can help us?”

              Her mother shocks her by grabbing her and holding her tight. “Oh Emma, of _course_ we’ll help.”

                            ***********************************************************

              For the first time since arriving in Storybrooke, Emma thinks she’s finally seeing Snow White and Prince Charming. They had first stopped at Gold’s Pawn Shop, and finding it abandoned, her parents quickly found Charming’s sword and Snow’s bow and quiver of arrows amongst the cursed belongings of the Enchanted Forest. Now Emma smiles confidently as she marches behind them into the Storybrooke Jail. Sheriff Graham Humbert has a much different look on his face this morning than he did the night before. Emma’s surprised to see him standing in front of the bars the cell. Her husband is leaning casually on the other side of them, as if the two had been chatting amiably. When the sheriff sees Emma’s parents, he quickly bows.

              “Your majesties,” he says.

              “Graham Humbert,” Snow White commands in a regal voice, “release my son-in-law this instant! His crimes were against the crown of Misthaven – _me_ – not the Evil Queen. And since he’s wed my daughter, he now not only has a full pardon but is Prince of Misthaven.”

              Emma doesn’t miss the cocky grin and wink her husband throws her way, and she chuckles at his cheekiness. Then Killian clears his throat.

              “You honor me, your majesties,” he tells her parents, “but the good sheriff is not to blame for my arrest. He had no choice in the matter.”

              Emma scowls as she crosses her arms over her chest. “No choice? Seriously?”

              “Yes your highness,” Graham says, bowing to her as well, “I . . . don’t have my heart.”

              Emma lets her arms fall to her sides as she catches her husband’s eye. He nodes grimly. Emma’s face instantly softens and she steps forward to take the sheriff’s hands. He almost can’t bring himself to meet her eyes, but when he does, she gives him a soft smile.

              “The Evil Queen and her mother the Queen of Hearts have controlled the wills of many,” Emma tells him gently, wanting him to know they understand.

              Graham looks at her with wetness in his eyes, shaking his head. “You have no idea the things she made me do. The ways she . . . used me as her plaything.” He averts his eyes once again, shame washing over him. “The worst part was . . . during the curse . . . I didn’t know she had it. My heart. All I knew was that I couldn’t tell her no. Even though I wanted to.”

              Snow steps forward, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because you let me go free.”

              Graham shakes his head. “Please don’t blame yourself. If I had it to do over again, I would make the same choice.”

              “The only one to blame,” Killian speaks up, “is the Evil Queen.”

              “Help me get my heart back,” Graham says, squeezing Emma’s hands, “and I’ll let your husband go.”

              Emma’s eyes cut to her husband’s. “But . . . why can’t you let him go now? Did Regina order you not to open his cell?”

              “Emma,” Killian says to her gently, “it was my idea to stay here until you restore his heart. If Regina finds out you’re trying to help him, she could kill him before you find his heart. But if I stay here, she won’t be suspicious.”

              Emma’s brow furrows as she steps up to the bars of the cell. “But Killian,” she whispers, “who knows what she might do to you? And Rumple is out there somewhere –“

              “It’s what hero’s do, love,” he cuts her off, pressing his forehead to hers through the bars, and threading their fingers together. “And remember what I always say?”

              Emma chuckles dryly. “You’re a survivor, I know. But I can’t help worry that you test fate a little too often.”

              Killian places a kiss to her hand, “I won’t be in here long. Graham thinks he knows where she keeps her hearts.”

              “It’s a memory,” Graham pipes up. He rubs his forehead. “I remember this symbol. I’ve seen a similar one in the graveyard on the Mills family tomb.”

              “He’s right,” a voice behind them pipes up. Emma turns to see Henry standing there, his storybook clutched in his hands.

              “Henry!” she scolds. “Your mother doesn’t want you visiting me. I don’t want you in any danger.”

              “I won’t stay with her!” Henry argues as Emma comes to cup his face in her hands. “She can’t make me!” He looks over her shoulder at Killian in the cell. “I can stay here with Hook. My mom won’t hurt him if I’m here.”

              Emma sighs as she ruffles his hair, glancing up at her parents.

              “He has a point,” David concedes.

              Emma bites her lip. “Okay, kid. You can be Killian’s guard. Now what’s this about the symbol on the family tomb? What are we looking for?”

              Henry grins brightly as he opens his storybook.

             

 

 


	8. The Savior's Magic

              The grass in the cemetery is wet with morning dew, and a fog rolls across the lawn, obscuring the tombstones. The sun may have just peeked over the horizon, but it’s not yet high enough to penetrate the thick trees surrounding the Mills family mausoleum. Emma feels a bit like she had going into battle against Cora in the Enchanted Forest with her father at her right with his sword in hand and her mother at her left with a quiver of arrows slung across her back. Even Graham has pulled the gun from his holster. But despite Emma’s vast experience fighting witches, she hopes that a battle isn’t necessary today.

              Emma reaches out to push the door open and isn’t surprised to find it protected by a spell.

              “Blood magic,” Emma mutters, furrowing her brow.

              Mary Margaret frowns in concern. “Doesn’t that mean only someone related to Regina by blood can open it?”

              Emma smiles at her parents. “Not when you’re the savior.” She raises her hands and sends a bright stream of light magic towards the mausoleum. The magic around it shimmers, undulates, then falls away completely. Emma smiles with satisfaction.

              “You – you can do that?” her father asks. Emma isn’t sure if his tone is one of awe or worry.

              “Yeah,” she tells him, “Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily were good teachers. Tiger Lily especially knew a lot about savior magic. It’s the strongest of light magic, but I wouldn’t be able to wield it as well as I do without her training.”

              Emma doesn’t wait for her parents to respond; she simply yanks open the mausoleum door. She’s surprised to find it only contains a sarcophagus and nothing else. Graham sighs, running a hand wearily down his face.

              “I thought for sure it would be here,” he says.

              Emma lifts her hands and closes her eyes. She reaches out with her magic, then grins. “It is,” she tells him. She begins to shove on the sarcophagus, and the other three quickly help her. It slides away with a loud scraping sound to reveal a stone staircase. They all head cautiously down into the crypt.

              “There’s a lot of magic here,” Emma whispers, “most of it dark magic.”

              “Where are the hearts?” Mary Margaret asks, also in a whisper.

              Emma raises a hand. “Listen.” She closes her eyes, and when she tunes in to her magic, she can hear a cacophony of multiple heart beats, each one beating its own rhythm. Now that she’s aware of it, the sound is so deafening she’s amazed that the other three can’t seem to hear it.

              “There!” Graham gasps. He walks slowly to the back of the crypt to a wall of drawers. Each one glows and pulses red. “I remember this room,” he says, voice rough.

              “Are these _all_ hearts?” Mary Margaret asks, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

              “Aye,” Graham says, running his hands across them. He pauses at one near the center of the wall. “This one’s mine,” he says softly, pulling it open.

              “We have to return them all,” Mary Margaret says, her voice thick with emotion.

              Emma draws near to her mother, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m the savior, Mom. We’ll get these hearts back to their owners as soon as we can, but for now, it’s Graham we need to help.”

              Graham reaches into the box, but before he can lift out the heart, it disappears. All four of them gasp and they turn to find Regina standing there with them in the crypt. She’s no longer Mayor Mills, but the Evil Queen, dressed in a figure hugging red velvet dress. She holds Graham’s heart in one hand, and her other rests at her hip. Her blood red lips curl in a wicked smile.

              “You’re trespassing on private property.”

              Mary Margaret fits her bow with an arrow in one smooth motion. “These hearts are not your property, Regina, and we _will_ return each and every one.”

              Regina laughs shortly. “I don’t think so.” Then she squeezes. Graham falls to his knees with a loud cry, clutching his chest.

              “Regina, stop!” Emma cries, rushing right up to the Evil Queen.

              She lifts the heart in Emma’s face tauntingly. “Why should I?”

              “Because it’s my heart you really want.” Emma pulls at her buttoned shirt, exposing the spot over her heart. “A trade.”

              Regina narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

              “Because I’m the savior,” Emma says, “it’s my destiny.”

              “Emma, no!” both of her parents cry, rushing forward. Regina flicks her free hand, freezing them in place.

              “Okay,” she sneers, “but it’s your funeral.”

              “Not when I believe in true love,” Emma replies, tilting her chin up. She puts out her hand. “Graham’s heart first.”

              Regina arches one brow. “How do I know you’ll keep your bargain?”

              “Because I’m a hero.”

              “You’ve also been living as a pirate,” Regina scoffs.

              Emma smiles. “Yes, but my husband believes in good form. And so do I.”

              Regina pauses for a moment as if thinking. Finally, she releases her iron grip on Graham’s heart, and the man collapses forward onto both hands, gasping for air. Regina places the heart into Emma’s outstretched palm.

Then she leans forward and whispers in Emma’s ear, “I won’t kill you right away. I’ll make you do things. To your parents. To that pirate of yours. I’ll show you what _true love_ will get you, and then I’ll still kill Graham anyway.”

With morbid glee, Regina plunges her hand in Emma’s chest. But instead of yanking out her heart, a strong pulse of light magic emanates from Emma and shudders throughout the crypt, sending the Evil Queen flying backwards. She hits the opposite wall and crashes to the floor. Emma grins down at her prone form.

“Your mother made the same mistake,” she quips.

David and Mary Margaret lunge forward as they’re released from Regina’s spell. David helps Graham up, and Mary Margaret rushes to her daughter.

“Let’s get out of here, Emma, before she wakes up.”

“One thing first,” Emma tells her, lifting her hand and casting a protection spell over the wall of hearts. Then she tenderly brushes her fingers across the drawers. “We’ll come back for you. We promise.” Then she dashes up the stairs after the others.

              ********************************************************

Emma runs into the sheriff’s station, and sags with relief when she sees Killian safe in his cell, Henry chatting with him from the couch on the other side of the bars. Without waiting for the sheriff, she flings the doors open with her magic and flies into her husband’s arms.

“I’m so relieved you’re safe,” he says as he buries his face in her hair.

“Me?” Emma laughs as she peppers his cheek with kisses. “You were the one locked up!”

“I told you mom wouldn’t try to steal his heart with me her,” Henry says with a broad grin.

Emma turns to hug her son as well. “Good job, kid.”

“But Regina never could have taken my heart,” Killian assures, tapping his chest with the curve of his hook. “Emma put a protection spell over mine. No one can ever try to take it again.”

Henry’s eyes widen with awe at his birth mother. “Cool! Can you protect mine too?”

“Sure,” Emma says, reaching out and wiggling her fingers at Henry’s chest.

Blue light spreads over him and is drawn inside of him. Henry feels a slight ache, but it fades quickly. He rubs at the spot and smiles tremulously. “So my mom – Regina – she can’t take my heart?”

Emma cups his cheek with her hand. “You’re afraid she would do that?”

Henry bites his lip as unshed tears shimmer in his eyes. Killian recognizes the gesture. It’s what Emma does when she’s trying not to cry. He wonders if his wife notices these small similarities between herself and her son.

“I know mom would never _hurt_ hurt me,” the boy tries to explain, “but she wants me with her and no one else. What if she did to me what she did to Graham? Controlled me using my heart?”

The boy’s brown eyes show true fear, and Emma looks back at Killian with an ache in her own. She pulls Henry close, stroking his hair. “Well,” she says, voice choked with emotion, “you don’t have to be afraid of that now.”

“If you can protect people’s hearts,” Graham says eagerly, “we need to gather the town. Have you protect everyone.”

“Absolutely I will,” she says firmly.

“Emma,” Killian interrupts gently, “that may need to wait.”

“What do you mean?” She argues. “It’s the right thing to do. I did it for our army against Cora, remember? It turned the tide of the war.”

Killian eases her arms gently away from the hold they have on Henry. He holds one hand in his, brushing her knuckles as he speaks. “And it drained you so much you were abed and ill for four days.” His hand drift to her swollen abdomen. “And you weren’t with child then.”

Emma gnaws at her lower lip, her brow furrowing as she watches his fingertips caress her womb. She looks regretfully at her parents, “He’s right. I’m sorry. I’ll have to do it slowly, a few people at a time.”

Mary Margaret smiles as she steps forward and embraces her daughter. “There is no need to apologize, sweetheart. Your husband is right, you have your baby to think about.” Tears well in Mary Margaret’s eyes as she leans back and presses her own hand to the spot where her grandchild lies. “And I am so excited that I get to be with you for this pregnancy. I hate that I missed the others.”

A tear slips down Emma’s cheek as her mother cups her face and places a tender kiss to her forehead. She brushes it away and shakes her head in irritation.

“Damn pregnancy hormones,” she laughs. Then she straightens her shoulders and lifts her hand to hover above her mother’s heart. “I can at least protect the two most important hearts in Storybrooke.”

She puts the protection spell over both her parents’ hearts. When she finishes, her father pulls her in an embrace, cupping the back of her head. “I beg to differ about whose hearts are most important,” he whispers in her ear. They make Emma almost melt thinking of all the lonely nights of her childhood wondering why no one loved her. She was wrong, she knows that now.

“Well,” Mary Margaret says, infusing the room with some cheerfulness, “speaking of your pregnancy, is there anything you need, sweetheart?”

Emma chuckles and rubs her belly as Killian stands next to her and drapes his arm over her shoulder. “Well, I was actually thinking this morning how much I would like some maternity clothes from this realm. You know, stuff with modern comfort like elastic and spandex.”

Mary Margaret laughs. “I think I can help you with that.” Her face brightens. “And Martha! Maybe she would like some 21st century clothes. Or some toys we didn’t have in the Enchanted Forest? Oh! We could get her some Barbie dolls!”

Emma’s smile feels like it might split her face. Shopping with her mother? It was a dream she had given up on so long ago, it’s hard to believe it’s really happening. She catches Killian’s eye, and she can see by the tenderness there that he knows exactly what she’s feeling. All those nights in their quarters, planning their voyage to Storybrooke, he had encouraged her to share with him all the secret desires of her heart when it came to having a family. As a fellow orphan, he understood every single one.

She traces his jaw now and gives him a sly wink. “And I need to take you shopping too, babe. I’d love to see you in some skinny jeans.”

He gives her that joyful grin of his, the one he reserves for her and Martha alone, the one that crinkles his eyes and dimples his cheeks. “I don’t know what that is, but sure!” He kisses the tip of her nose. “But this little excursion I’ll leave to you girls. I need to get back to the Jolly and see how Liam and the rest of the crew are faring. Make sure that protection spell has kept them safe.”

Emma frowns and glances over her shoulder. “Take Dad and Graham with you? I just worry about –“

“The Dark One,” he finishes for her, “I know, love.”

David crosses his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. “It’s odd that we haven’t seen him since the curse broke. Especially since Regina brought magic here.”

Emma shakes her head grimly. “Regina didn’t bring it here. The Dark One did.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen as the pieces fall into place. “He not only wanted Regina to cast the curse, he wanted you to break it. All so he could bring magic to this realm.”

              “Which brings us to the most frightening question of all,” Graham adds, “why?”

                            *****************************************************

Headlights cut across the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign, and a man leaning against a motorcycle squints against the brightness. The car pulls over, and another man gets out, his stride rigid, his hands tightened into fists.

              “What the hell, August?”

              The first man smirks as he pushes away from his bike. “Well, hello to you too, old friend.”

              “Don’t know about us being friends, _Pinnochio_.”

              August shrugs. “I did send you the postcard, as promised, _Baelfire_.”

              “It’s Neal. And I wouldn’t have abandoned my son if not for your shitty advice.”

              August narrows his eyes. “And done what, exactly, raised a child on the run from the law? And what about Emma; would you have done right by her? Brought her home to break the curse?”

              Neal shakes his head in frustration, pacing back towards his car and back again. “Who cares about the damn curse? I’ve got a kid!” He flings his hands out as if casting August aside. “You know, forget you. I’m going to find my son.”

              “There are things you need to know, Baelfire,” August replies. The words hold a warning, but his tone is almost casual.

              “All I need to know is one thing. That I’m a father.” Then Neal slides back into the driver’s seat and heads for town.

              “Suit yourself,” August mutters under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Everyone was begging me not to kill Graham, and I was so happy that I had already planned to keep him alive :)  
> * Yep, Neal is now in the picture. Things are about to get interesting . . .


	9. The Man Behind the Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Here I am! Back to posting again! I said this on tumblr, but for those of you who aren't on there, I am doing the Captain Swan Big Bang this year. The deadline is this Friday, so I had to focus on that exclusively for awhile. But I'm done!!! Yay!!! Now I can go back to all my WIP  
> *There is little CS in this chapter, but a whole lot of Captain Charming :) Hope you enjoy it!

              David had heard tales of the fearsome Captain Hook back in the Enchanted Forest, but since the man had arrived in Storybrooke, he has to admit that all he has seen is a doting father and loving husband. Not that David’s just going to trust the man. He’s still a pirate, and Emma’s still his little girl. Now, as David watches Hook stride across the deck in front of his crew, he can see a bit of the fierceness he had heard tales about. His crew is a dirty, ill-reputable looking lot, but they stand at attention as much as they can in front of their captain, listening dutifully to his words.

              “I won’t lie to you, men,” Hook tells them, “the Dark One is out there, and though the protection spell Emma put on this ship is both hiding us from view and keeping out dark magic, I don’t put it past The Crocodile to find a way around it. So I leave it up to you whether you wish to stay on board or head to the inn here in town. Granny Lucas, the proprietress, has assured me she can find space for all of you, and she’ll gladly accept your coin.”

              He stops, clasping his hand and hook behind his back. “I’ve also been told that winter comes fast and fierce to this place called Maine, and since it’s late October, that means we have work to do readying the ship. Get to work, men. I’ll be gathering belongings for my family.”

              David is surprised when a few of the men give sharp salutes. All chorus a hearty, “Aye, Cap’n!” Then they are scattering to their duties, clearly a well-oiled crew. One of them, a young man in his twenties with light brown hair, approaches Killian and the two embrace with firm claps to the back. Killian turns to David with a smile upon his face.

              “David, I’d like you to meet my little brother, Liam.”

              The younger man chuckles as he clasps David’s hand, “I prefer younger brother, actually,” then he winks at Hook, “but it’s an old joke.”

              David greets Liam warmly with a smile, but he’s thrown a bit. Coming to a pirate ship, he hadn’t expected to see an organized crew or meet family members of the Captain.

              “Well, in my defense, little is a more than fitting description of the age difference, your highness,” Hook quips.

              Liam’s eyebrows rise, “You mean, you’re the Prince? I thought your name was James.”

              David shakes his head wryly, “That’s a long story, I’m afraid. And please, no titles. I grew up on a farm with smelly sheep. Just David will do.”

              “I appreciate that your – I mean, David,” Liam replies with a bright smile, “and believe me, the story of me and my brother’s vast age difference is a long story as well.”

              “Maybe we can tell both of them some time,” David says, and he means it. Something about the young man causes him to like him right away.

              “We’ll have to do that. For now though, there is much to do.” Liam turns to his brother. “Give my niece a hug for me?”

              “I will,” Hook promises, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he walks away. He then turns to David, “If you wouldn’t mind helping me gather some things from my quarters? There were a few items Emma wanted me to get for her.”

              “Of course,” David agrees readily, following Hook down the steps to the Captain’s quarters. Once inside, David is taken aback by what he sees. First of all, it’s bright, with a long bank of windows along the far wall. It’s also clean, impeccably so.

              “You seem confused,” Hook comments with a wry smile.

              “It’s just so . . . tidy.”

              “Aye,” the pirate agrees, “no thanks to your daughter. No offense mate, but Emma can be a bit messy.”

              “Not your mate,” David says, crossing his arms, but then he deflates slightly. “But I have to admit, she gets her messiness from me. I’ll never forget all those blasted etiquette classes at the palace after I got roped into taking my twin brother’s place. King George liked to constantly point out how uncouth and messy I was.”

              “I suppose shepherds are a bit like pirates, then,” Hook replies easily, completely overlooking David’s surliness, “and you had a twin? I can barely stomach one of you.”

              David tries to force it back, but his face twitches into a half smile nonetheless. Hook falls silent as he gathers things from the room; a small blanket that must be Martha’s, a jewelry box of mahogany with a swan carved into it, and a tiny pair of moccasins. Killian has to reach under the bed for the last item, grumbling about how Martha kicks her shoes of all over the ship. It’s incredibly domestic, tiny pieces of a life that Emma has built with this man. David sees a cradle next to the bed in the corner, mounted to the floor with some sort of hinged piece of wood. He walks closer to it, pushing down on the edge experimentally. The cradle rocks back and forth smoothly.

              “That was a little invention of my brother’s,” Hook comments. “Keeps the cradle secure at sea, but can still rock if Emma or I set it in motion. He learned a lot of interesting things from his previous captain, gods rest his soul.”

              David frowns, assuming there must be a story to go along with that comment, but he doesn’t ask. He instead runs his hand along the wood of the cradle, which is covered in intricate engravings; a swan, a compass . . . and a wardrobe. David looks up to see Hook at his desk, pulling leather bound books of parchment from its drawers. He clasps one, his face introspective, then he lets out a long breath and holds it out to David.

              “You might like to see these,” he tells him.

              David walks to his side and takes the book, unwinding the strap of leather that keeps it closed. He opens it to find drawings; one of a tiny baby sleeping in the cradle David had just admired, Emma smiling down at the same baby with a beaming smile, a chubby toddler taking tentative steps as she clings to someone’s hand.

              “Emma always regretted that we didn’t have a camera like in the land without magic,” Killian explains, “so I would draw for her. Those are of Martha mostly.”

              David swallows hard as he traces another drawing of Martha giggling, her nose wrinkling the way Snow’s does when she is filled fully and completely with joy. “Thank you for showing me these,” David tells him, swallowing thickly. Hook just nods in understanding. “Do you have any more of Emma?” he asks, reaching for the other book.

              Hook quickly pulls it out of reach with his metal appendage. “Um,” he says nervously, scratching behind his ear, “you probably don’t want to see those.”

              David scowls as the man turns red. Just when he was starting to consider liking the guy . . .

              Hook clears his throat, and turns away to slip the books and papers he’s collected into a leather satchel. He places the other things in a wooden crate. “If um, you would carry this one, I’ll carry the items we fetch from Martha’s room.”

              “Martha doesn’t sleep here?”

              “She did as a wee babe, but once she turned three, we gave her the first mate’s quarters. Smee and Liam were more than willing to give it up. I must confess, she’s got most of the crew wrapped around her little finger.” Killian stops at a door just down a short hallway from the captain’s quarters. He gestures to it with his hook. “We were nervous about her leaving her room and wandering around the ship at night, so Emma put a spell on the door. Only Emma, myself, Liam, and Smee can open it. In case of an emergency, you know.”

              David had been surprised by the Captain’s quarters, but Martha’s room absolutely takes his breath away. The room is small, but crammed with almost anything a little girl could want. The trundle bed pretty much sits right on the floor and is covered in a pretty patchwork quilt in a rainbow of colors. A stuffed rabbit and a rag doll sit atop a tufted pillow of satin. Hook picks up all three and puts them in the crate he had grabbed.

              “You’re thinking we spoil her, aren’t you?”

              David shakes his head, speechless.

              “She receives a lot of gifts everywhere we go,” Killian explains. He shakes the satin pillow. “This was a gift from Sultana Jasmine of Agrabah,” he picks up a glowing globe, smooth as glass, “a night light made of ice that never melts from Queen Elsa of Arendelle,” he shakes the stuffed rabbit, “from the White Queen and King of Wonderland.” He sighs as he tosses it into the box. “Mostly it’s because of what Emma did for everyone, saving all the realms from not only Cora, but other threats. So they love Martha, too.”

              David just nods mutely as he looks around the room; at the constellations painted on the ceiling, at the little desk in the corner covered in colored pencils and paper. Martha has left a drawing sitting there, a child’s sketch of stick people. One of them clearly has a hook. David isn’t an expert on such things, but he thinks it’s a rather good drawing for a three year old. Perhaps she inherited it from her pirate father. David picks it up, then hands it to Hook. The man takes it with a nod of understanding and places it in the crate with the other things.

              “Emma says we can get her better drawing things here. Something called crayons?”

              David nods, “Yes, I think she’ll love those.”

              Killian picks up a little wooden duck with wheels from under the desk. Around its neck is a long string so Martha can pull it along. Killian pauses to weigh it in his hand.

              “This is her favorite toy,” he says, “but I wonder if it will remain so. She might find toys of this realm far more entertaining, like the dolls your wife spoke of . . . Barbaras?”

              “Barbies,” David corrects.

              “Aye,” Hook says, nostalgia in his voice, “Smee made this for her. Made the cradle too. He’s a rather good craftsman with wood. He’s been so much happier since Emma and Martha entered our lives. Truth be told, I don’t think piracy ever fit him all that well. He has too kind of a heart. A lot of the crew were relieved I think when Emma joined us. They all admire her.”

              David furrows his brow in confusion, “No one mutinied?”

              “Nobody mutinies when Captain Hook is in charge,” Killian retorts with an arch of his brow. “We did have a couple abandon ship at the next port, though fear of Cora had more to do with that than anything else. Much of my crew were with me back when this was a naval vessel. Being on the right side of the law again wasn’t too far of a stretch for them. Though I lost many during our years in Neverland.”

              “Wait,” David says, raising a hand, “you mean to tell me you were in the navy?”

              “Aye, until my country betrayed me. My older brother died following their immoral orders, so the _Jewel of the Realm_ became the _Jolly Roger_.”

              “You had an older brother too?”

              “That I did,” Killian tells him as he hoists the crate, “you would have liked him. He was bloody stubborn too.”

              David is able to laugh at the barb. The visit to the pirate’s ship – the ship where his daughter and granddaughter spent much of their time as a family – has softened David considerably towards the man. What he has seen here is a home, filled with memories. And any man who can rally a crew to follow him in the navy, then into piracy, then into a war must be worthy of at least a little respect. But for some reason, David still can’t bring himself to _like_ Killian Jones or trust him with his daughter. David isn’t even sure anymore why.

                            *************************************************************

              The men drop the box of things off in Emma and Hook’s room at Granny’s then head out to the diner to meet the girls for lunch. They come bustling in just as David and Killian get seated, laden down with shopping bags. Killian’s eyes widen as he rises to great them, catching little Martha as she launches herself into her arms.

              “Like the outfit?” Emma asks him, tucking her lower lip under her bottom teeth.

              Killian eyes her up and down, and they sparkle as he takes her in. “You are lovely in anything, Swan. But . . . “ he hesitates, “where is the dress that goes over these hose?”

              Emma laughs, letting out an unabashed snort. “These aren’t hose, babe, they’re called leggings. And this is actually called a shirt dress.”

              “Barely,” Killian quips, laughing too as he turns her to admire her backside, “though I do like the view.”

              David lowers his eyes to the menu in his hand as the couple kiss, but Mary Margaret just laughs.

              “Oh, you two! You’re just so adorable!”

              Martha begins to chatter as they all slide into the booth. “See _my_ dress, Papa?” she asks as she stands up on her seat, arms outstretched.

              Killian takes it in; it’s a pair of leggings like Emma’s, in swirls of deep purple and orange. The top must be another one of those “shirt dresses” his wife referred to, with a little ruffle at the bottom. It’s also dark purple with a grinning orange pumpkin splashed across it.

              “You are the cutest little lass in all the realms, of course,” Killian tells her as he plants a kiss on her cheek, but then glances at Emma. “But why is the gourd smiling like that, love?”

              Emma laughs again. “It’s called a jack o’lantern, babe. A holiday is coming up in this realm called Halloween. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

              “Oh, David,” Mary Margaret gushes, “we’ll be able to take our granddaughter trick-or-treating. I mean, if it’s okay with Emma and Killian for us to tag along?”

              “Of course, Mom, it’ll be fun.”

              David smiles at his daughter and then his granddaughter. It _does_ sound wonderful. “It’s a date then.”

              Mary Margaret leans across the table to talk to Martha. “Now we just have to figure out what you want to dress up as. Maybe . . . Snow White?”

              They all chuckle at that, even Martha, though she probably doesn’t understand why. Even Killian is a little lost about everything this Halloween event entails. Martha then begins to pull items out of a bag with a logo that reads “Babes in Toyland.”

              “Look, Papa!” she says, pulling out a slender plastic doll with long blonde hair. “A Baw-bee.”

              “I only agreed to that because she’s a doctor,” Emma says wryly.

              “Oh, every little girl needs a Barbie,” Mary Margaret argues, the conversation once again lost on Killian as his wife rolls her eyes.

              “And these is called . . .” Martha continues as she pulls out a bright yellow box filled with brightly colored sticks, “what they called Mama?”

              “Crayons, sweetie.”

              “Cway-ons, Papa. To make pictues.”

              David glances in confusion at Killian.

              “Yes, cygnet, beautiful _pictures_ with all those colors,” he says smoothly and David nods in understanding.

              “Mom wanted to buy half the store, but I wouldn’t let her.”

              Mary Margaret pushes playfully at her daughter’s shoulder. “Oh honey, that’s what grandmothers are for.”

              David glances around the diner. “What’s taking so long to get waited on?”

              It’s only then that all four of them notice that the atmosphere in the diner is slightly charged. Most of the patrons glance their way now and again, and a few stare with open hostility.

              “What the hell . . . “ Emma mutters.

              Mary Margaret waves down Granny. “Is everything okay?”

              Granny stomps over, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at them over her bifocals. “You sure you want this guy in your family,” she gestures to Hook.

              “Now wait just one second-” Emma snaps, but Granny cuts her off.

              “And you?” the woman shakes her head. “I’m disappointed. I never thought a daughter of these two would fall so far just for this . . . devil with a pretty face.”

Her last words are pointedly directed at Killian. Then she walks off without taking their orders. The four of them exchange confused glances. Suddenly, they’re all startled by an irate Leroy who slams a newspaper down in the center of their table.

“Even a princess can be corrupted by a pirate,” he bites out. “Snow, you might want to get your daughter in line before you expect us to trust her. Next thing you know we’ll have the FBI sniffing around here.”

Snow grabs the paper and turns it so she and Emma can read the headline as Leroy marches grumpily away. Emma’s face crumples as she reads it, catching Killian’s gaze with sadness in her eyes. She slumps in her seat as she shows it to him.

There is a picture of Emma’s mug shot when she was arrested for the stolen watches at 18. Above it is the headline: “Princess Emma Gave Birth in Jail!” Below the fold of the paper is a sub-headline: “Bloody Crime Scene tied to Royal and Her Pirate Lover.”

“Sydney Glass,” Mary Margaret seethes, “Regina’s got him turning this newspaper into a tabloid.”

Emma’s face is pale, and her hand shakes as she smooths out the paper. “It’s all true, Mom.”

Killian hates himself in that moment; hates that Emma has to endure this humiliation when she is nothing but goodness and light. He swallows before speaking, knowing that this will undue any headway he has made with Emma’s parents.

“It isn’t Emma’s fault.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before continuing. “I killed those men.”

Snow’s face has paled and David’s eyes are narrowing as he scans the article. “More on page two,” he grumbles, throwing a glare at Killian as he crumples the pages in his hands to turn the page.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation . . .” Snow whispers hesitantly.

David finishes reading and slams the paper down on the table beneath his palm. “I want to talk to Hook,” he says with thinly veiled anger. “Alone.”

“Dad –“

“I’m not asking you, Emma,” he silences her.

Killian squeezes her hand. “It’s okay. We need to have a talk anyway.”

They exchange hesitant smiles as Emma guides Martha out of the circular booth and follows her mother towards the back of the diner. The child is so enthralled with her new doll, that she doesn’t protest. Killian shifts awkwardly in the booth, turning to face the man on the opposite side.

              David leans forward, pressing a finger down on the article in front of him. “Three people dead in pools of blood? Two with their throats slit?” He glances with distaste at Killian’s hook. “What kind of monster are you? And what did you do to make my daughter come with you?”

              Killian shakes his head before looking up to face David squarely in the eye. “Let me ask you a question, your highness. What would you do if you came home one day to find two unsavory men on top of your wife? Her shirt ripped open?”

              David blanches, his eye twitching as he glances back at the newspaper in front of him.

              “I know,” Killian says with steel in his voice, “the article doesn’t mention that part. I’ll never forget how she screamed my name in terror, how I almost didn’t get there in time . . . “ he trails off, running his hand over his face. “Let’s be honest, I didn’t get there soon enough. She still has nightmares about it, do you know that? They may not have gotten what they were after, but they wounded her all the same. I can’t tell you the blind rage I felt when I came crashing through that wardrobe, knowing something was wrong by the way she was calling for me. And when I saw them-”

              “Stop,” David chokes out.

              “No,” Killian presses on, “I need you to understand. Because if I had to do it over again, I would still slit the throats of those bastards. So don’t ask me to feel remorse because I won’t.”

              By this time, David is crying silently, the tears making stark tracks down his cheeks which he doesn’t bother to wipe away.

              “Thank you,” he finally says, taking Killian aback, “for watching over her when I . . . wasn’t there.”

              The man chokes out the last words and hangs his head, cupping his face in shaking hands. Killian thinks of Martha, and he knows. They now understand one another.

                            ******************************************************

              “Mama,” Martha says, her little feet kicking back and forth as she sits on the toilet of the diner’s bathroom, “I’m hungry.”

              Emma smiles at her daughter, despite the quivering in her arms and legs. She’s relieved that the child didn’t pick up on the tension back at the booth.

              “I know, kiddo,” she says as she helps her wipe and then flush. She pulls up Martha’s leggings, thinking how much easier this stretchy fabric is for a three year old than dresses and pantaloons. “As soon as Papa and Grandpa finish talking, we’ll go back and eat.”

              Emma exits the stall where her mother waits. She’s fiddling nervously with Martha’s Barbie doll and gives her a hesitant smile. Emma helps her daughter wash her hands at the sink, and her mother hovers over her shoulder.

              “Emma, I just want you to know that I’m not jumping to any conclusions. I can see clearly how much Killian loves you and how much you love him. And everyone makes mistakes.”

              Emma nods, touched by her mother’s words. “I’ll explain it all to you, I promise, it’s just . . .” Emma breaks off, staring at empty air, memories returning unbidden. “It’s painful, Mom. The stuff with Henry’s dad, that night with Killian in Minnesota . . . it’s not easy to share.”

              Snow smiles and grasps her daughter’s hands in both of hers. “You have a lifetime of memories to share with me; good and bad. We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen.”

              Emma accepts her hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. Snow squeezes her tightly, not letting go until Emma steps back. Their moment is interrupted by an indignant Martha.

              “When we gonna eat, Mama!”

              They both chuckle. “Let’s go see if the men have quit . . . talking,” Emma says, taking her hand.

              They exit the bathroom, but a man coming down the hall from the opposite direction crashes into them. The man quickly apologizes, and Emma’s blood runs cold as she hears a familiar voice she hasn’t heard in ten years. She looks up, hoping against hope that it isn’t him, but . . .

              “Neal?”

 

             

             

 


	10. Things Get Interesting

              “Emma,” Neal breathes out, with the tiniest sigh.

Emma’s eyes narrow because he doesn’t seem as surprised to see her as she is to see him. She grips Martha’s hand a bit tighter and her other hand goes to her swelling abdomen with no conscious thought. Neal’s eyes follow the movement of her hands, his brow furrowing as he gazes first at Martha, then at Emma’s belly, and back again. The look that fills his eyes seems a lot like hurt, and it makes rage swell deep in Emma’s heart because he has no right. No right at all to be upset that she finally conquered the wounds he gave her.

“Sweetheart?” Snow asks tentatively, reaching out to touch Emma’s elbow.

“I’ll be okay, Mom,” Emma whispers, but her mother doesn’t go anywhere.

              Martha must pick up on the tension radiating through Emma’s body because she lets go of her mother’s hand to wrap both arms as far around her pregnant waist as she can.

              “Mama?” she says hesitantly, gazing up at Neal with wide, fearful eyes.

              Her daughter’s voice finally rouses Emma, and she shakes her head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

              Neal still seems taken aback by her pregnant body and the little girl who is clinging to her. He points at first Martha, then Emma’s waist. “She’s your . . . and you are . . . “

              “What is it, Neal, huh?” Emma snaps. “You still thought I would be waiting for you? Or in jail maybe? For _your_ crime?”

              Out of the corner her of her eye, she sees her mother’s jaw drop and her eyes widen. She blinks as realization seems to wash over her. Her hand at Emma’s elbow tightens in solidarity and understanding. It causes strength to rise up within her.

              Neal shakes his head, recoiling from her words. “You got a lot of nerve, Emma, painting me the villain here. I know you hid my son from me.”

              Emma gasps and fear claws at her chest. “You stay the hell away from him!” She shakes her way out of her mother’s grip as her voice rises.

              “I have a right to meet him,” Neal argues, stepping closer to Emma. Martha whimpers and hides behind her mother.

              “Watch it!” Snow hisses, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with her daughter and further shielding Martha.

              “Says who?” Emma argues. “You left me. No, you _betrayed_ me. I owe you nothing. Henry owes you nothing.”

              “You didn’t even tell me about him!” Neal thunders, grabbing her arm. Martha shrieks. Snow lifts her hand to ward off his approach.

              “Get your hands off my wife!” another voice thunders from the end of the hallway.

              If Neal showed no surprise whatsoever at seeing Emma, he’s certainly showing it now. He releases Emma immediately, stumbling backwards, face pale as if he’s seen a ghost. When Martha shouts “Papa!” and runs into her father’s arms, Neal swallows at a lump in his throat, and his nostrils flare with sudden rage.

              “You!” he hisses at Killian, lifting a trembling hand to point at the pirate.

              Emma is confused by Neal’s reaction, but she presses herself into Killian’s side when he reaches her. His hooked arm goes protectively around her as his other arm holds Martha on his hip. Their little girl wraps trembling arms around her papa, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

              Killian’s brow furrows as he stares at Neal. “Is this really him? The rat who left you?”

              Emma just nods; she can feel Killian’s jaw clench against her temple. Neal’s rage increases tenfold, his face turning red.

              “You married _him?_ ” he shouts at Emma. “Had his _kids_?”

              “Neal, I want you out of here!” Emma yells right back. “You have no right to an opinion in my life or who I love. So just go!”

              “Love?” Neal spits out, clutching his hair with both hands as if he’s about to lose his mind. “You think you love this pirate?”

              Killian’s brow furrows as he takes a tentative step forward, shifting so his body shields his little girl. Something about this man, though, haunts him, and he has to know . . . “Do I know you?”

              Neal chuckles sardonically. “You don’t even recognize me, do you? Did you think I was still on Neverland? Still just a boy? I grew up, Captain Hook.”

              Killian’s eyes widen as he suddenly realizes why this man’s features are so familiar to him. “Baelfire?” he whispers hesitantly.

              Neal shakes his head, lips trembling as he fights for composure. “First my mother. Now Emma?” He sniffs, stopping the threat of tears with an inhale of breath, replacing it with rage. “All these years, I never wanted anything to do with my father. But now? Revenge sounds pretty damn good. I know he’ll gladly help me take you down.”

              Emma sways slightly, glad for her mother’s support by her side. The pieces all fall into place, almost overwhelming her. Once she regains her equilibrium, she takes a shaking step towards her ex.

              “You knew? All along? You were from there?”

              Neal blinks, almost as if he’s forgotten about her. “I didn’t know who you were,” he tells her with eerie calm in his voice. “If I had, I never would have gone near you.”

              His words are like bullets to her heart, even after all these years. Her mother takes her hand, and her husband draws her near, as if they can sense her old insecurities rising up. She blinks back the tears.

              “Get out of here, Neal,” she says, her voice like ice.

              “Oh, I’m going,” he tells her, “to find my father and get my son.”

              He turns and stomps out of the back door of Granny’s, slamming his palm against the wood as he leaves. Once he’s gone, Emma sags in her husband’s embrace as her mother strokes her hair. The only thing good about seeing him again is that she didn’t have to do it alone.

                            ***********************************************************

              Belle bolts upright in bed, her heart racing at the terrible nightmare that has awakened her. She squeezes her eyes shut, wanting to forget Rumple’s skin turning reptilian again, his voice manic as he spat the word “dearie!” She throws the covers aside, sleep no longer an option.

              She gets up and dresses in one of the outfits Rumple had conjured with his magic. Magic. Her hands shake as she remembers that purple cloud billowing from the well and enveloping the town. At the time, she had been so overwhelmed by the return of her memories, so thrilled to be at Rumple’s side again – to see him _normal_ – that all she could do was watch. But now, she wonders. Why does he need it?

              All he has said for days now is that he has to protect her, provide for her. But why doesn’t he take her shopping for clothes? Take her to a book store? Show her this enchanted town that she was locked away from for almost thirty years? Instead, he cast a protection spell around the house and told her she had to stay here for her own safety.

              Well, she doesn’t care what Rumple says. She’s going stir crazy, and she’s curious about Storybrooke. And after years in Rumple’s castle, then years being imprisoned by Regina, she’s eager to meet people and reunite with old friends. What has become of Mulan? Is she here? Has Phillip awakened his princess? Is Grumpy still pining for that fairy? There’s so much to discover and learn!

              But most of all, her heart longs for her father, to find out if he’s okay. What is his life like in this new realm? Could he remember her under the curse? She knows Regina told him she was dead, just as she told Rumple, and the pain and heartache her father must be feeling is more than she can bear.

              Belle slips into a pair of wine colored pumps that compliment her argyle skirt and brings out the auburn hues of her hair. One thing she likes about this realm are the clothes for sure. At least Rumple’s magic has guessed her taste perfectly. But shopping in an actual store? She can’t wait!

              She tiptoes down the stairs, though she doubts Rumple is on this floor. She had discovered him yesterday in the basement at his spinning wheel again, skeins of golden thread piling up around him. She had tried to talk to him, but he was distant and preoccupied. She knows something is driving him, but getting him to open up has always been an almost impossible task. So while he spins the day away, she will explore.

              Belle pulls open the heavy oak door, but when she steps through, a burst of magic hits her square in the chest and sends her stumbling backwards. She gasps and reaches her hand out, but purplish waves bend around her hand, and she can’t push through. She tries the back door in the kitchen, the side door that leads to the car port, the dining room French doors. At every single one, the wall of magic pushes her back. Rage fills her as her fists clench. This is no protection spell! She’s trapped! Fuming, Belle marches down the basement steps. There he is, at his spinning wheel just like yesterday.

              “You put up a spell to keep me from leaving?” she yells at him.

              He doesn’t even look up from his spinning as he answers. “I told you Belle, it isn’t safe. Do you know how many in this town will want me dead now that they have their memories back?”

              “You’re the Dark One! No one can harm you!”

              Finally, Rumple stops spinning and finally looks at her. “But they can harm _you_. You’re my weakness, one my enemies can exploit.”

              Belle shakes her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a weakness or a liability, I’m a woman! The woman you love.” She pauses for a long moment, dread filling her as she gazes into Rumple’s face. “At least, I think you love me.”

              Rumple rises then from his stool and comes to her, a gentle smile on his face as he takes both her hands in his. He leans forward and brushes her lips with a chaste kiss.

              “I _do_ love you, Belle. That’s why I can’t bear to think of anything happening to you.”

              “But don’t you see? I _want_ things to happen! I’ll wither and die if you keep me trapped here!”

              “Just trust me, Belle, please!” Rumple pleads, pressing his forehead to hers.

              Belle’s eyes flutter shut, her heart warring with her head. “Why do you need it?” she finally whispers.

              “Need what?”

              She opens her eyes just as she opens his, and she gives him a gentle smile, the one that always seemed to tame the beast in him. “Magic. Do you really need it?”

              He releases her then and backs away from her. “Yes. I need it.”

              “Why?” she pleads. “We have a new chance here in this new land. We can be happy.”

              “I’m the one who did this, Belle,” he tells her, gesturing around him, “this dark curse? I may not have cast it, but I was the architect of all of it in the background. All so I could find my Bae.”

              Belle’s expression softens as she takes in his desperation. Aside from her, memories of his son have been the only thing that ever pushes back the darkness within him. “And you can’t find him without magic?”

              Rumple begins to pace. “No, it isn’t that. All I have to do to locate him is tor- question that puppet of Geppetto’s. But the town line, that’s the problem.”

              “What about the town line?”

              “A little experiment of mine revealed a slight problem. Anyone who crosses the town line loses their memories of their real life all over again. So I can’t just go to Bae. The minute I cross the town line, I forget he even exists.”

              Belle frowns. “What do you mean by a _little experiment_?”

              Rumple waves his hand dismissively. “Just a dwarf. Not like his life was anything much back home anyway.”

              Belle gasps. “You pushed a dwarf over the town line just to see what would happen? And now he doesn’t know who he is?”

              “You’re not listening to what’s important here, Belle,” he says to her as he reaches out for her arm.

              Belle yanks it away. “No, I think I hear you quite clearly. You’re still selfish and cruel and addicted to your precious magic. Do what you want Rumple, but I won’t be a part of it. Let me out of this house!”

              Rumple’s face crumples and he reaches out for her with trembling hands. “No, no, Belle, please. I can’t live without you! Don’t leave!”

              Belle used to find such pleas heart breaking. She used to think it meant he wasn’t evil, just hurt and sad and misunderstood. But now, it only seems pathetic at best, manipulative at worst. She reaches out and cups his face in her hands.

              “I know I’m powerless here,” she whispers, tears coursing down her cheeks, “you’re the Dark One. If you refuse to let me go, what can I do? But is that what you want? For me to be your prisoner again?”

              Rumple hangs his head, turning his face to kiss her palm. “No,” he whispers, “that’s not what I want at all.” He waves his hand in the air. “It is done,” he tells her, “you are free to go.”

              He releases Belle’s hands and turns his back on her, shoulders slumped. Belle reaches out and places her palm on his shoulder gently.

              “I’m not saying this is goodbye forever,” she tells him softly. “I just need to figure out who I am now. What I want.”

              Rumple doesn’t answer her; he simply sits at the spinning wheel once again. By the time Belle reaches the top of the stairs, she can hear it hum as it spins around. Her heart is conflicted as she makes her way back upstairs to back her meager belongings. Leaving isn’t easy, but she knows it’s right.

              Her heart hammers in her chest as she makes her way downstairs and to the front door. Much the same way it did all those long years ago when Rumple gave her the freedom to choose whether or not to come back. Would he change his mind? Would fear take over, causing him to cling to her too tightly?

              But Rumple doesn’t appear on the first floor, and when she steps out onto the front porch, no spell holds her back. She releases a long breath as she heads down the stairs, then down the front walk. When she gets to the driveway, she starts suddenly. A car is parked there and a man with brown hair leans against it. He startles too when she rounds the bend, and he quickly waves his hand in front of her as if to assure her he means her no harm.

              “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he blurts out.

              “Who are you?” she asks hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”

              “My name is . . . “ he hesitates, “I’m here to see my . . .”

              It’s as if he doesn’t know how to say what he needs to, but suddenly realization dawns as Belle stares into his face. With a soft gasp, she fills in the blanks for him.

              “You’re Baelfire!”

                            ********************************************************

              Nobody broods like her husband, this Emma Swan knows well. He sings a lullaby to Martha, running his fingers gently through her dark curls as her eyes flutter shut. Emma can hear the melancholy in his voice, however. She can see it in his eyes and the set of his jaw. As he leans to kiss their little girl goodnight, Emma turns from the doorway and back into their bedroom. She fiddles with the sashes of her new bathrobe and worries her lower lip. She was so excited to show Killian her last little purchase from her shopping trip today, but now his angst has dampened her enthusiasm, and she’s unsure what to do with herself. Drape herself seductively across the bed? Pretend to be busy with something then straddle him once he’s settled?

              Emma decides to go with sauntering up to greet him as he walks wearily through the door. She runs her hands up his chest, undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt as she goes. She looks up at him with a pouty expression, batting her eyes. She almost rolls her eyes in frustration when she sees that his mind is clearly elsewhere.

              “You’re so tense, babe,” she coos as she kneads his shoulders, “I can help you relax.”

              He meets her gaze then and attempts to give her a smile. “Aye. It’s been quite a day.”

              She clasps her hands behind his neck and nudges his jaw with her nose. “There’s one more outfit I bought that you haven’t seen yet.” Just in case he doesn’t catch her meaning, she presses her body flush against his and trails her hands down to trace the contours of his body under his leather pants.

              “Really?” He asks her breathlessly, and his smile is a bit more like the one she knows so well. He trails his fingertips down her skin that’s exposed beneath the gap of her bathrobe, and Emma shudders. He then captures his mouth with hers, and Emma groans into his deep kiss. His hand lightly traces the front of her body, and when he reaches the sash of her bathrobe, he yanks it loose. He then lifts his hand and hook to her shoulders to push the bathrobe off.

              Emma pulls away from his kiss with a smirk, backing away from him so he can get the full effect of her outfit. It’s a red sequined bra with a black sheer fabric hanging from the bottom of it. Her pregnant stomach pokes through, but she’s never felt ashamed of her body around Killian. Simply because he’s never made her feel anything but beautiful.

              His eyes are blown wide and darkened with desire as he takes her in head to toe. Emma smirks at him again then turns to pull the bedsheets down, bending over exaggeratedly so he can get an eyeful of her thong from behind. She yelps and lets out a loud laugh as he grabs her from behind and scoops her up in his arms.

              “No need to waste so much time on those sheets, love,” he tells her huskily.

              He kisses her again as he arranges her gently on the bed (for the baby’s sake, she knows, and she finds his concern adorable). Emma’s getting impatient now and begins shoving his shirt off his shoulders and tugging at the laces on his pants.

              “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” she complains against his lips, and he laughs.

              They do a lot of that. Laughing. Emma thinks of it often and is so grateful. Neither of them had much reason to laugh for so long, and she loves sharing that kind of playfulness with him. Another person, like her, who missed out on so much of that in childhood.

              Their laughter turns to pants and moans as they make love, and Emma’s new “outfit” ends up tossed upon the floor amidst Killian’s shirt and leathers. Then they are sated and sweating in each other’s embrace, spent and relaxed in the best way. Killian turns to her and traces her cheek with his fingers.

              “I wasn’t expecting the night to go this way,” he tells her with intensity in his gaze.

              Emma’s brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t it?”

              He sighs and presses his forehead to hers. “What you learned today . . . my connection with Bae - Neal. It’s . . . “

              Emma reaches up and cups his face, soothing the tense lines there with her thumbs. “Hey, listen to me. You’ve held nothing back from me. You told me about Milah and her son. You told me of your regrets. And I have chosen to see the best in you; to love the man who would die for me and our children. You are a hero, remember?”

              He opens his eyes to gaze into hers. “But we didn’t know it was Neal.”

              Emma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s a little weird. But that’s what I get for marrying a guy who’s over three hundred.”

              “Oy!” he protests even as they both laugh. “I’m not a day over two hundred and ninety!”

              For some reason, their laughter turns into the contagious kind that just won’t abate. The kind that causes tears to stream from their eyes and their sides to ache. When it subsides, Emma ends up curled against his chest with his arms around her. Killian traces lazy patterns on her upper arm as she cards her fingers through his chest hair. Finally, he voices what neither of them really want to face.

              “And now we know Henry’s grandfather is the Dark One.”


	11. Softly as I Leave You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I meant for this chapter to be longer and didn't plan the cliffhanger, but I'm on codeine cough syrup and can barely keep my eyes open. I was afraid if I didn't just post what I've got, you'd have an even longer wait for the next chapter!  
> * Did you notice there's a chapter length now? I've outlined the rest of this fic, and wow! We've got a long way to go . . . Hope you're in for the long haul ;)

The first time Killian Jones kissed Emma Swan at the age of ten, he had felt as if his heart might explode and his face might permanently be tinted red. It was such a brief brush of his lips against her cheek, but that cheek had been the softest thing he’d ever felt in his life. Granted, is was a life filled with very little that was soft or warm or tender, but Emma Swan’s skin against his lips was special all the same. He’d lain wide awake the rest of the night, replaying it in his mind, his face still flushed at the thought of it.

Time the next day had seemed to crawl as he counted the minutes, the seconds, until he could see her again. His heart had crashed when he found her room empty, her bed cold. He should have known as soon as he saw the little stuffed rabbit. It was a kind gift, and it was soft, and it smelled of her. When his captain had tossed the silly plaything, as he called it, far out into the waves, Killian had watched the little ball of white fluff with the bright pink ribbon float away from him until it was a tiny speck on the horizon. With it, he felt hope shrink as well. His would forever be a life of sharp edges and hard callouses. Liam’s occasional embraces and slaps on the back meant the world to him, but they weren’t soft like the rabbit. 

Or like Emma’s cheek. Her hair.

Killian the man turns his head upon the soft pillow in his bed at Granny’s to bury his nose in Emma’s hair. He pulls her close against him, his mind still partially lingering in sleep where he saw the boy he was look longingly at that silly bunny bobbing on the waves. He couldn’t know then how the wardrobe would take him back to Emma again, and the man he is can scarcely believe his good fortune. He runs his hand along her arm, coming to rest at her hip where he draws small circles with his fingertips. So soft. Emma hums and turns in his arms, nuzzling her nose into his collar bone as he inhales her scent. 

“You’re brooding,” she mumbles against his skin.

“No, I’m thinking. There's a difference.”

She pulls back slightly to look up at him sleepily. “Mmm, really?”

“Aye,” he explains, brushing her nose with his, “brooding involves dark thought, and my thoughts this morning are bright.”

She runs her hands up his chest. “And what bright thoughts do you have this morning?”

He runs his fingers through her hair, breathing in her wonderful scent. “How soft you are. Your hair, your skin. When I was a boy, that’s one of the things that captivated me. How soft your cheeks were against my lips. How soft your hair.” He presses a lingering kiss to her right cheek, and she giggles.

“I don’t recall you touching my hair. Not when we were ten.”

“I could just tell it was soft,” he mumbles against her jaw. 

He trails kisses lower, down the column of her neck, then to her collar bone. She moans in a deeply satisfying away, her fingers carding through his hair, but then the clock radio on the nightstand begins to beep and her moan turns to a frustrated one instead.

“Shit,” she mutters, throwing back the covers.

Killian sits up, thrown a little off-kilter by the sudden change. “You set the alarm?”

“Yeah,” Emma mutters as she sifts through the shopping bags she had never unpacked yesterday, “I’ve got to catch Henry before he heads to school.”

“Oh,” Killian nods, “is this about Bae – er, Neal?”

“For one,” Emma replies as she hooks the clasp of her bra. Killian tries to concentrate on her words as she shimmies into a pair of leggings, though the bounce of her breasts make thinking a little difficult. Those are soft too. “I also need to talk to him about the newspaper article. Knowing Regina, she’s made sure he’s seen it.”

Emma pulls a sweater over her head, but before she can head for the bathroom, he reaches out and pulls her back down to him. She yelps and smacks him in the chest.

“You can’t toss a six-month pregnant woman around like a barrel of rum, pirate!”

He chuckles as he presses a quick kiss to her lips. “Sorry, love, you just are so damn beautiful this morning.” He then brushes her hair out of her face and then cups her cheek with his hand. “And don’t worry about Henry. He has a big heart. Even if he is upset or hurt, I have a feeling it won’t change how much he loves you.”

Emma smiles, grasps his face in her hands, and presses her forehead to his. “Have I told you that you’re the best husband in the world?”

He looks smug as he replies, “Only about a thousand times.”

“Then make it a thousand and one.”

*************************************************

Emma stands nervously about a block from Granny’s, yesterday’s paper clutched in her hands. She had tried sitting on the bench to wait, but the morning cold seeped through her leggings, and her nerves are fidgety, so she’s ended up pacing up and down the sidewalk instead. When she sees Henry heading her way, her heart rises up to her throat.

“Hey kid,” she tells nervously.

“Hey, Emma.”

She gestures to the bench nearby. “Can we talk?”

He glances over her shoulder. “I can't miss my bus.”

“I’ll be quick, I swear.”

He shrugs his shoulder, removes his backpack, and plops down beside her. He doesn’t seem upset, so that’s a good sign. He surprises her by speaking first.

“If this is about the story in the paper, it’s okay.”

Emma blinks. “It is?”

“Yeah, I mean, now I understand even more why you gave me up. You couldn’t take care of me in jail.”

She smiles in relief and grasps his hand. “That’s it exactly, Henry. If I had kept you, they would have put you in foster care until my sentence was up, but you could be adopted right away. And even when I got out, there was no guarantee a judge would see me as a fit mother. Young, no job, do . . . do you understand?”

He nods. “I do, really.”

She glances down at the paper in her hands. “But, that’s not all, Henry. I mean, I never wanted you to be ashamed of me, or disappointed. I know you thought I was a hero, but I’ve made mistakes, and -”

“A lot of heroes have a tragic backstory. Han Solo, Ant-Man, The Green Arrow . . . some even did bad things.”

Emma smiles. “You into comic books?”

Henry grins. “Yeah, my mom – I mean, my other mom, she isn’t too crazy about them, but she buys them for me anyways.”

Emma frowns. “How are things at her house, Henry? Are you sure you’re still okay living there?”

Henry deflates a little and stares into his lap. “I know it was her who put that stuff about you and Hook in the paper. And she’s always telling me you won’t love me like she does. That’s hard, but . . . I know she loves me. As much as she can.”

Emma puts her arm around him, then almost weeps as he turns in her arms to hug her tight. She means to say something comforting, but the words won’t come. Instead, Henry mutters something against her shoulder.

“Grandpa told me that Hook killed those men to save you.”

Emma pulls back, her eyes wide with surprise. “He did?”

Henry nods. “I was real upset when I saw the paper. I ran off to the loft.” He shrugs. “I didn’t really know where to go.”

“Hey,” Emma assures him, “they’re your grandparents. You can go to them any time you want.”

“That’s what they said. Grandma gave me some cocoa.” 

“Good. So if things at Regina’s ever make you feel uncomfortable or scared, you can go to them or come to me. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay. But if I stay with her, it will keep everyone safe.”

Emma bites her lip. She doesn’t want to put Henry in the middle. Regina may be the enemy of her and her parents, but she’s also the only mother Henry’s ever known. She’s the one he’s gone to when he was afraid or sick or upset ever since he was a baby. She doesn’t want him to feel guilty for that or feel he has to choose sides. 

“That’s very brave of you, Henry,” she finally says hesitantly, “but we’re the adults. You’re the kid. It’s our job to take care of you, not the other way around. Okay?”

He smiles and nods, “Okay.” He reaches for his bookbag then, and Emma knows she needs to get to the other topic. The harder one.

“Um, Henry, there’s one more thing -”

“Is this him?”

Emma startles at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. She turns and rises from the bench, her eyes wide to see Neal standing there. 

**Author's Note:**

> * The Martha in this story is one hundred percent based on my grandmother (who was also named Martha), and her house is one hundred percent my grandmother's house when I was growing up. That's actually why my user name is searchingwardrobes. My grandmother's house was at least a hundred years old, and had wardrobes instead of closets. My sister and I used to play in them, truly believing one would take us to Narnia!  
> * I know what ya'll are thinking - yeah, right this is two chapters :) And I know, I've said that before, and then its ended up being 5-15 chapters long. But seriously, this one is only two. I wrote a very detailed outline for this, and chapter two is half done. I'll have it to you tomorrow. Not kidding. Seriously!


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